


The Sand and the Sea

by Sandrene09



Series: Tumblr Prompts [9]
Category: Smosh
Genre: Alternate Universe, Angst, M/M, Smut
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-05-19
Updated: 2015-05-19
Packaged: 2018-03-31 04:39:55
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 24,764
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3964708
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Sandrene09/pseuds/Sandrene09
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>
  <em>It’s funny, how two people can affect each other in so many ways in so little time.</em>
</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Sand and the Sea

**Author's Note:**

> For teamfreefuckery, who requested an AU where Anthony was raised in the Philippines and meets Ian when Ian goes to the Philippines for a vacation. I hope you enjoy this fic from your resident Filipino nerds. This fic is very AU, so beware. Teamfreefuckery, I hope you like this fic as well, and I hope I managed to write what you were expecting. I probably didn’t write it very well, but I think I did my best.

**Day 1**

The Philippines wasn’t exactly the most obvious place to go when Ian started thinking about taking some time off and going on a vacation a few months ago—after all, the country is 14 hours away from Los Angeles, and as beautiful as the various websites Ian had checked out made the country seem, the Philippines isn’t exactly included in the list of places Ian wants to someday travel—and yet, here he is, fourteen grueling hours later, his suitcase rolling behind him as he walks down the tiled hallway. His shirt is sticking to his skin, damp with sweat despite the fact that the airport he’s currently in is air-conditioned.

Thank God he had chosen to wear shorts, he thinks as he walks toward the sliding glass doors. He spares a thought for the sandals he has in his suitcase before walking out of the building, immediately being hit by a blast of heat.

“Jesus,” he says under his breath as he walks toward the group of people holding up cardboard pieces with names written on them. He can feel sweat dripping down the side of his face, can almost _physically_ feel his freckles showing up on his face once more.

Why, why, _why_ did his finger land on this country when he spun that fucking globe?

Ian sighs. He can’t wait to get to his hotel room.

The sun is setting just beyond the horizon, streaks of red and orange bleeding across the darkening sky, and Ian has to admit that even here, with most of his view blocked by people, the sunset looks gorgeous.

Another sigh. Why didn’t he just take Mari’s advice and went to Hawaii?

Ian stops walking, looking at the group of people and the signs they’re holding up their heads. Ian eventually finds his name—something he’s ashamed to admit has taken up a lot longer than he thought it would, but hey, cut him some slack, he’s actually kind of _exhausted_ —and breathes a sigh of relief, taking out his passport from his backpack and walking to the man holding the sign.

“Hi, I’m Ian,” Ian says to the man, mustering up a polite smile. He quickly shows the man his passport as proof of identification, his smile widening when the man nods and leads him to a white van with the hotel’s logo on the door.

The man is silent as he takes Ian’s suitcase, though he has a polite smile on his face. Ian watches the man bring his suitcase to the back of the van for a moment before entering the van and sitting beside the window, another relieved sigh making its way out him when he realizes that the van is air-conditioned.

Ian takes a quick glance at his wristwatch, groaning when he realizes that it’s two in the morning in Los Angeles. No wonder he’s so tired, he thinks before closing his eyes and leaning his head against the window.

When Ian feels the van start to move, he forces himself to open his eyes and look out the window. There is no way he can mistake this place as Los Angeles, he thinks as he looks at the houses on the side of the road. This—wherever _this_ is—is severely lacking in the towering skyscrapers and the apartment buildings that Los Angeles is filled with, though the traffic sure reminds Ian of home.

There are no other people in the van besides him and the driver, and once Ian realizes this, he is immediately overly-aware of the deafening silence.

The van moves. Ian doesn’t reach into his backpack for his earphones, instead trying to ignore the silence in the van and staring out the window.

The thing is, he doesn’t really want to judge this country so quickly, considering the fact that he had _just_ arrived and he has gone nowhere interesting so far, but right now, Ian can say with absolute certainty that he would have preferred going to Japan.

Ian leans back, closing his eyes. Right now, all he has to do is make it to the hotel, get dinner, and probably go email Mari to tell her that he had arrived safely and that he’s still alive before going to sleep and getting some much-deserved rest.

Tomorrow—he’ll have to wake up around five in the morning, he thinks. He’d have about an hour and a half to take a shower and eat breakfast before having to ride the van that will take him to a port in a place called _Batangas_. After three hours of travel via van, Ian will have to ride a small boat that will take him to another island, because apparently the beach resort he’s going to has its own small island.

This resort better be worth it, Ian thinks as he sighs. He’s already so tired just thinking about all the sitting on his ass he has to do the next day.

Despite the traffic, it’s not long before the van stops in front of a modern-looking high-rise building. Ian steps out of the van and stretches for a bit, a soft sigh making its way out of his mouth as he hears his joints pop into place. Here, wherever this is, Ian feels a little more like he’s back home—high-rise buildings are everywhere, lit up like stars planted on the ground.

Quietly, the man gives Ian his suitcase, smiling at him and nodding before going back inside the van and driving away. Breathing in deep, Ian walks to the front doors, smiling at the security guards opening the glass doors for him.

The lobby is almost ridiculously bright, Ian thinks as he squints a little. The large tiles beneath his feet are spotless and white, reflecting the light produced by the overly-large chandelier with crystals above Ian’s head almost _too_ well. The glass fixtures around the place and the mirrors on either wall don’t exactly help matters, nor does the gleaming chrome of the elevator doors. The counter behind which the front desk clerk is seated is, thankfully, black granite—easily recognizable from the rest of the lobby. It is toward this that Ian walks, rolling his suitcase behind him.

Despite knowing that he has paid for his stay here online, Ian feels vaguely underdressed seeing as he’s only wearing a shirt and shorts. The woman smiling at him from behind the counter doesn’t give any indication that she’s thinking the same though, and when Ian realizes that the woman isn’t silently judging him, he gives her a slightly awkward smile.

“Hi, I’m Ian Hecox?” Ian says, uncertainty coloring his tone. He removes his backpack from one shoulder, swinging it to his front so he can reach inside for his passport. “I made a reservation online?”

The woman nods, facing the screen before her. Ian hears the clicking sound of her fingers hitting the keyboard keys in quick succession, and soon enough, her focus is back on him, brown eyes kind and polite. “Identification please?” she asks, and though her English is rough at the edges in the way that it almost always is for those who have a mother tongue so vastly different from English, it flows well enough that Ian thinks the woman must be pretty fluent.

Ian grabs his passport and opens it for the woman’s inspection, putting it back in his backpack when the woman smiles and nods.

“All right,” she says after a few seconds, looking away from the screen and back at Ian. “Sir, you’re here until tomorrow morning, am I right?”

Ian nods. “Yes.”

“Here are your keys,” she says, handing him a set of keys. “I’ll be sure to notify the crew that you’ll be catching the ride to Coconut Beach.”

“Thank you,” Ian says, smiling.

“Would you like me to make a reservation for our restaurant tonight, or are you eating out?”

Ian looks at the clock hanging on the wall behind the woman, sighing when he sees that it’s six in the afternoon. Making the calculations in his head, Ian concludes that it’s about three in the morning in Los Angeles, and though he’s exhausted and swaying on his feet, he figures it would be better to eat dinner and go to sleep afterwards so he could minimize the effect of jet lag on his body.

He doesn’t really have the energy to go outside and look for something decent to eat that isn’t fast food, and though he knows that hotel food is expensive, he thinks it’s worth it anyway. He doesn’t know his way around here anyway, and he would rather pay for a fancy meal that’s probably ridiculously small and unsatisfying than go outside and risk being robbed or something.

“Yes,” he says after a few moments, nodding. “I would like that.”

“All right,” the woman says, enthusiastic, after she types something down on the computer. “The restaurant will be expecting you in an hour. Your room is on the fifteenth floor, number 118. Have a good evening, sir.”

“You too,” Ian says, putting his backpack on once more before turning around and walking to the elevator.

It’s not long before he’s inside his room. He thinks he should be unsettled by the fact that he hasn’t seen other guests, but he’s too tired to ponder over it. Instead, he walks down the short hallway and into the room proper, putting his suitcase against one wall before walking toward the king-sized bed and collapsing on it.

The mattress is as soft as a cloud, Ian thinks as he closes his eyes. He can fall asleep like this, half-lying on the bed with his legs on the ground, but after a few moments, Ian forces himself to open his eyes and sit up, rubbing at his face with two hands.

Damn, he’s so fucking exhausted. Everything in his vision is basically swimming before his eyes.

Ian stands up with a tired sigh, walking to a nearby wooden table. He smiles when he sees the slip of paper with the name of the wifi and the password.

Maybe Mari’s awake. If not, then too bad for her.

Ian sits down as he waits for his facetime request to be accepted, his eyes drawn to the view outside. It’s beautiful in a way that Los Angeles cannot hope to be, he thinks, because though this place has the multitude of buildings that Los Angeles has in spades, it isn’t as overpopulated as Ian’s home. There are the buildings’ lights and there are cars on the road, but those cannot hope to compete with the brightness of the stars shining against the dark backdrop of the sky. The light pollution here isn’t as severe as the one in the city of angels.

“What the fuck, Ian?” Mari asks by way of greeting, obviously annoyed.

Ian looks back to his phone, grinning. “And hello to you too.”

“Don’t give me that,” Mari says, shaking her head. “It’s three in the fucking morning.”

Ian leans back, crossing his legs. “I arrived safely, thank you for asking,” he says nonchalantly, continuing to ignore Mari’s protests.

Mari rolls her eyes, one hand reaching upwards to comb through her disheveled hair.

“Tell him to fuck off and go to sleep,” Ian hears, and Ian grins even wider, realizing that he not only woke Mari up, but Sohinki too.

“I’m hurt, Mari,” Ian says, a fake frown tugging at the corners of his lips as he puts one hand against his chest. “Are you going to exchange me for Sohinki?”

Mari rolls her eyes so hard, Ian wonders how her eyeballs are still in their respective sockets afterward. “He’s my boyfriend. No exchanging of any sort is happening.”

“You tell him,” comes Sohinki’s muffled voice.

Mari turns on the lamp on her nightstand, ignoring Sohinki’s low groan of protest. “What’s up?” she asks Ian, less grumpy now than before. “Why aren’t you sleeping?”

Ian shrugs. “It’s six in the afternoon over here. I figured I might as well wait for dinner, then go to sleep so I can try to avoid jet lag.”

“Ah,” Mari says, nodding. She yawns, closing her eyes for a moment, before looking back at her screen, slightly less sleepy.

Ian feels like a dick now, and though he wants to tell Mari to go back to sleep, he doesn’t, knowing that Mari will just tell him that she’s awake now and would rather get this all over with.

“How was the flight?” Mari asks, getting out of the bed. As she walks further away from the bed, Ian catches a glimpse of Sohinki hugging Mari’s pillow to his body instead, and suddenly Ian’s heart aches with want for what Mari and Sohinki have—an actual relationship that was based on friendship.

Ian tells himself he’s not jealous. After all, he can’t be jealous of his best friend—he and Mari tried to make it work, after all. Despite being best friends for a long time, however, their relationship had crashed and burned, and so, they had called it quits.

Ian’s happy for Mari and Sohinki. He really is. He just wishes he had something like what they have, that’s all.

“Ian?” Mari asks, and Ian shakes his head, forcing himself to focus on Mari.

“It was okay,” Ian says after a few seconds. “Pretty exhausting, but that’s practically a given for a 14 hour flight.”

“Well at least it was safe,” Mari says as she turns the light on in her kitchen. “How’s the country?”

“Well the view’s been good so far, but I can’t really say anything more seeing as I haven’t been anywhere yet.”

From here, Ian hears Mari starting to brew coffee. “You’re going to the beach tomorrow, right?”

“Yeah,” Ian says, sighing. “Another couple of hours sitting on my ass. Yay.”

Mari smiles, shaking her head. “I would kill to go on vacation, honestly.”

“You always could, you know,” Ian says, remembering how he had tried to convince Mari and Sohinki to go on vacation with him. “I did tell you to go with me. I mean, you and Sohinki could always vlog here.”

“I know,” Mari says fondly, having had this conversation with Ian before. “We both know, however, that you’re not going to get much written if we were there with you, and then your fans will be disappointed.”

“It’s not like they know I’m planning to release a book,” Ian starts to protest.

“No, they don’t know,” Mari agrees, nodding, “but practically every Youtuber now has a book being released. You can bet your ass that people are already thinking that their favorite vlogger is going to release a book sometime in the next few years.”

Ian sighs, thinking of the word document on his laptop that he hasn’t touched in a week. Mari must have heard the sigh, must have seen something on his face, because she then adds, “don’t forget to have fun though. Take some time for yourself.”

Ian smiles, touched. “Thank you. I’ll try to do that,” he says.

It’s during times like these when Ian wonders why he and Mari never made it as a couple. Mari gets him in ways that even he is surprised sometimes, though he thinks he should probably get used to it considering the fact that he and Mari have been best friends for over four years now.

He and Mari met at the first Vidcon. They had quickly hit it off and became friends, and it wasn’t long before they became usual guests on each other’s channels. After about a year of friendship, Ian had asked Mari to be his girlfriend, thinking for sure that she was the one.

She wasn’t.

After a year of dating, they broke it off, realizing that their friendship was far too precious to try and convert into something resembling a romantic relationship. Ian was forced to finally face the truth that Mari, despite being such a wonderful person, is more of a sister-material than a girlfriend-material. She had, apparently, though the same of him.

Now, however, as Ian sits alone in his empty hotel room with Mari on Facetime despite the fact that it’s three in the morning where she is, Ian allows himself to mourn…something. Them, perhaps. They had so much potential, but Ian’s not going to think about it any further. He knows when to stop, and this…this is just forcing it, really.

Besides, Mari has Sohinki now.

The fact is, he’s not even really attracted to Mari. There’s no denying that she’s gorgeous and that she’s basically almost perfect for him, but she’s not the one.

As Mari had said before, he’s not in love with her, not really. Instead, he’s in love with the idea of her. Ian finds that he agrees.

“I like this place so far, but I honestly feel like I should have gone to Hawaii instead,” he admits. “I wouldn’t be so far away from you guys.”

Mari smiles, her eyes kind. “I did tell you to go to Hawaii instead, but you were pretty stubborn.”

Ian sighs. “I spun the globe! You know what happened.”

“Yeah, yeah,” Mari says, rolling her eyes. She moves, and Ian sees that she’s now reaching into the cupboard for a mug. “Anyway, you can take care of yourself. You don’t need guardians. You’re a big boy now.”

Ian grins. “Okay, mom.”

“Ugh, shut up,” Mari says fondly, a small smile on her face. “You should be thankful that your finger actually landed on a country and not an ocean or something, now that I think about it.”

“Yeah,” Ian says, uncrossing his legs and stretching them. “Jesus, I feel exhausted.”

“Go get some rest, then,” Mari says in a matter-of-fact tone.

Ian drags one tired hand down his face. “I wish I could, but I made reservations at the hotel restaurant. Plus I woke you up.”

“Don’t worry about me,” Mari says as she pours coffee in her mug. “How long before you have to go?”

Ian glances at the clock on the polished nightstand. “Twenty minutes or so.”

“Take a quick shower. We can talk later,” Mari says, understanding as always.

Ian nods, standing up. “All right. I’m gonna go take a shower. Talk to you another time?”

“Yeah. Go.”

“Bye Mari,” Ian says before ending the call.

Sighing, Ian puts his phone on the table before walking towards his suitcase.

He’s only going to be in this country for two weeks. He might as well try and enjoy it now.

-.-.-.-

**Day 2**

The sun is high on the sky, bright and unforgiving as Ian adjusts the cap on his head.

Here he is, four hours of travelling later, in _Batangas_ port. There is sand and gravel on the ground, and it is because of this that he has to carry his suitcase. By the sea are small houses made of light materials, and near the small boats made of nothing but wood, ropes—and in one particular boat’s case, _prayers_ —are brown-skinned men with grins on their faces as they joke with one another.

The sea breeze is strong here, and Ian has to put one hand on top of his head to avoid getting his cap blown away more than once. It is refreshingly cold though, a welcome respite from the unforgiving sun.

“Hi _po_ , sir,” a man says, walking toward him. “Coconut Beach _po_ _ba_?”

The man before him has brown skin—probably from working under the sun—and black hair with gray showing at the temples. He is lean and muscled, and judging from the crinkles on his face, he must be around 40 years old.

Though Ian didn’t understand some of the words that the man said, he nods, having heard the name of the beach resort he’s going to. He can only hope that he understood enough of what the man asked him.

“Yes,” he says.

The man smiles at him, kind. “Okay, sir,” he says in an enthusiastic tone of voice. “ _Sundan niyo po ako_.”

Ian furrows his eyebrows, confused. “Excuse me?”

The man furrows his eyebrows as well, looking at the ground before him. He looks deep in thought. After a few seconds though, the man looks at Ian once again, a proud smile on his face. “Please follow me, sir.”

“Ah,” Ian says, nodding, and he grabs his suitcase, starting to walk.

“No, sir!” the man says, stopping Ian from walking further. “ _Ako na lang po_.”

At Ian’s confused look, the man corrects himself. “I will take your bag,” he says, his English rougher than the front desk clerk’s at Ian’s hotel. It’s obvious to Ian that this man is more accustomed to speaking his native language—Filipino, Ian recalls.

“Okay,” Ian says, smiling at the man. The man grins at him, friendliness radiating off him in waves, and lifts Ian’s suitcase like it weighs nothing more than a feather. Ian follows the man to the small stone steps leading to the ocean, watching as the man walks in the shallow water and gives the suitcase to another man already on the small boat.

Ian looks at the clear water, a small smile on his face. He takes a deep breath, closing his eyes, before stepping into the water. The water isn’t exactly cold against his skin, but it isn’t exactly warm either. It’s just right, he thinks, before he looks up and finds a thin plank of wood resembling a small stairway resting against the boat.

Ian smiles, gamely stepping on the wood before slowly making his way up the slope, one hand holding onto the hand of the man on the boat for support. There is something exhilarating about the knowledge that he can slip anytime, Ian thinks as he steps onto the boat with a grin on his face, like he’s having an adventure only he knows about.

One of the men ask him to put on a life vest, and he does so before sitting down on one of the wooden planks attached to the right and left sides of the small boat. He looks at the blue ocean sparkling beneath the sun as the small boat starts to move, and Ian finds that here, he actually feels at peace.

Ian welcomes the salty ocean breeze against his skin, welcomes the crashing sounds of the waves, welcomes the quiet vibrating noise of the boat as it moves. Here, in this boat with no one but the two men for company, Ian feels tension leave his shoulders. Though he misses Los Angeles, he thinks he can bear to stay here for a couple more days, surrounded as he is by things other than bright city lights and traffic.

Isolated he may be, but not lonely.

Because it’s August, Ian’s the only one on the boat, and when they arrive at the beach, Ian can see only few other tourists. It’s not particularly a bad thing per se—Ian thinks he actually prefers the calmness of the beach as compared to the chaos he would no doubt see if he had decided to take a vacation during peak season.

Ian follows the man down the boat, up the sandy shore, up a couple of stone steps, and to a small hut made of wood. Behind a counter made of bamboo is a woman in her late twenties or early thirties, a radiant, welcoming smile on her face. She’s wearing a floral-patterned uniform, and the small nametag pinned to her blouse reveals that her name is Diana.

“Good morning _po_ sir,” she says, friendly. The man beside Ian nods at her, smiling, before leaving Ian’s suitcase there and exiting the small hut. Ian watches him leave before turning his attention back to Diana, smiling politely as he says, “good morning” despite the fact that it’s nearly 12 noon.

“Do you have a reservation, sir?”

Ian nods, shrugging his backpack off to get his passport and itinerary. “My name’s Ian Hecox. I made a reservation online?”

The woman nods, facing her computer screen. She types slowly, as if afraid to get his name wrong on the first try, and when she finally presses enter, she brightens up, as if she honestly didn’t think the computer would give her a result.

She must be new, Ian thinks, tilting his head to the side as he watches Diana quickly read the words on the screen.

“Itinerary please?” she asks, a bit uncertain, as if testing the feel of the words in her mouth.

Ian smiles, handing her his passport and his itinerary, taking a moment to look around when she focuses back on her computer screen.

The hut isn’t exactly small, but it isn’t exactly large either. The hut, made of lightweight materials, doesn’t look like it can withstand a particularly large storm, but what it lacks in sturdiness, it more than makes for in appearance. Here, as Ian watches the waves rush to the shore through the large window of the hut and as Ian hears the birds flying overhead, he feels at peace, like he has found another home.

Ian turns back around when Diana calls his name, smiling as he gets his passport and itinerary. “Thanks,” he says, putting his documents back in his backpack.

“Hilltop cottage _po_ , sir?” Diana asks, a wide grin on her face. She hands him a set of keys attached to a wooden sculpture of a man with his head on his knees. “There will be someone to go with you to your cottage, sir.”

Ian nods, grabbing his suitcase and walking to a seat near the window. He watches little kids chase the receding waves outside, their loud laughter reaching his ears. The green coconut trees sway softly to the sea breeze, and Ian watches as one coconut falls, rolling down the sandy slope before being stopped by one of the kids.

“Sir?”

Ian looks away from the window and feels his eyes widen in surprise. The man before him is tall and fit, his wavy dark brown hair parted to the side. He has brown eyes that remind Ian of the color of sand once the sea rushes back to the shore, has arms that look capable of pinning Ian against a wall, has a smile that makes his entire face light up.

The man is beautiful.

“Hi,” Ian remembers to say after a few seconds of staring.

The man grins even wider. “Hi _po_ sir. I will be assisting you.”

The man’s English flows well in the way that Ian knows the man has been speaking English for a long time. The whole “ _po_ ” thing aside, the man’s pronunciation is better than anyone else Ian has spoken to so far.

“Okay,” Ian says, standing up. “What’s your name?”

The man smiles, grabbing Ian’s suitcase and carrying it with one hand without even breaking a sweat. “Anthony.”

Ian follows the man outside the hut. “I’m Ian.”

The resort proper is beautiful, or at least Ian guesses it is. He can’t really focus on the clear blue swimming pools on either side of them or the green coconut trees overhead when Anthony is walking in front of him in nothing but a navy blue tanktop and a pair of brown shorts which, by the way, shows off a spectacularly fine ass, if Ian may say so himself.

They continue the rest of their walk in silence, going up dozens of stone steps. Ian realizes that the resort’s website wasn’t really lying when they said _“hilltop_ ” when he stops to catch his breath and turns around, his eyes widening when he sees just how high up they are.

Hilltop cottages are placed on various levels of the mountain, with ample space between one cottage and the next to provide privacy. Tall coconut trees are planted everywhere, and it is here, climbing up the stone steps of an actual mountain, looking at the spectacular view of the sea behind him, that Ian feels closer to nature than ever before.

Ian turns back around and, upon seeing Anthony a dozen or so steps away, quickens his pace, panting in exhaustion all the while. It’s actually unfair, he thinks, that he’s sweating so much more compared to Anthony who has been carrying his suitcase all this time.

When finally, they’ve reached the cottage Ian’s going to be staying in for two weeks, Ian allows himself to take a few moments to catch his breath, letting Anthony enter the cottage first after he unlocks the door with his keys.

The sun overhead is blazing hot, and it only takes Ian a few seconds before he realizes that going inside the cottage is a pretty good idea. Once inside, he quickly removes his cap and glasses, putting them on top of the queen-sized bed.

“Sir?”

Ian turns to look at Anthony. “Yeah?”

Anthony walks to the balcony—which, Ian is surprised to note, made of lightweight wood—and points to a thick rope. “If you need any assistance, just tug on this rope, and I’ll come assist you.”

Ian nods. “Okay. Thank you,” he says, smiling.

Anthony quickly leaves, quietly closing the door behind him as he goes. Ian walks to the balcony, watching as Anthony walks down the stone steps, and when Anthony’s finally out of his sight, Ian turns back around and takes stock of his surroundings, noting that everything is made of wood. The queen-sized mattress looks about three inches thick, and though the cool breeze entering the hut feels good against his skin, Ian doubts he would be able to sleep well on such a thin mattress. There’s a woven hammock on the balcony—Ian tries to remind himself to test that out sometime today—and the window has a mini-balcony of sorts upon which he can sit.

Ian looks at his suitcase before looking at the shelves made of bamboo on either side of a door that he thinks leads to the bathroom, shaking his head. He’s not going to remove his things from his suitcase and put them on shelves when he’ll be staying here for only two weeks—twelve days, if he’s going to be honest, seeing as the last day would be spent at the hotel back in the city.

Sighing, Ian collapses on the bed, frowning when he doesn’t slightly bounce on the mattress but instead hurts his back. He turns his head, noticing a picture frame near the door.

He stands up, a small smile forming on his face when he sees that the people in the picture is actually Anthony and an older looking woman—his grandmother?—in front of the signage Ian saw down at the beach before walking to the hut earlier. In this picture, Anthony looks younger—like a teenager—his hair slightly longer then than now.

Ian feels like a stalker. It’s not a good feeling.

Ian feels his stomach rumble, and he groans, looking at the view provided by his balcony. He’s going to have to walk down those steps to get something to eat.

Damn it.

-.-.-.-

It’s night time.

Ian is walking barefoot in the sand, his slippers in one hand. The evening sea breeze feels good against his skin, and every now and then Ian stops and takes a moment to look at the sea, a darker shade of blue than the sky.

Eventually, Ian stops walking and sits down on the sand, his knees crossed in front of him, his arms around his knees. It’s peaceful here, he thinks, with only the sound of the ocean waves for company. The light from the restaurant can’t quite reach him here, but the moonlight does, finding him seated underneath a coconut tree with his eyes looking at the point where the sky meets the sea.

Ian blinks, feeling something disturbing the stillness of the air. He finds Anthony walking away from him, his steps small but hurried.

“Anthony,” Ian calls out, unfolding his knees. He smiles and waves when Anthony turns around to look at him.

“I didn’t want to disturb you,” Anthony says, English flowing out of his mouth like melted chocolate, smooth and silky. His voice is hushed, and Ian has to strain to hear him over the sound of the sea.

“You didn’t,” Ian says, patting the space beside him. “Sit.”

Anthony looks at the place beside Ian for a few seconds before sitting down, tucking his knees under his head, his arms around his legs.

For a moment, both of them are content to sit in silence, content to listen to the ocean waves. Ian isn’t used to hearing this—the busy streets of Los Angeles always drown out the sounds of the nearby sea—and he is perfectly happy not to talk.

“I shouldn’t be here, sir.”

Ian looks at Anthony, though Anthony is looking straight at the ocean. After a few seconds, he looks away too. “I know. You looked like you were sorry to disturb me.”

“I am, sir,” he says.

Ian sighs, looking at Anthony. Anthony looks tense, like he is getting ready to run away at any moment. “You don’t have to be here if you don’t want to be, you know.”

Anthony looks at Ian, a small smile forming on his lips before he looks away, his eyes focused once more on the sea. “I do want to be here. I was just surprised to see you sir, that’s all.”

Ian nods slowly, thoughtfully. He lets silence envelop them both for a bit before speaking once more. “You don’t have to call me sir.”

Anthony unfolds his legs. “You’re a guest,” he says.

“Yeah well,” Ian says, turning to look at Anthony. He waits for Anthony to look back at him, his smile widening when Anthony eventually does. “Where’s the fun in following rules?”

Anthony laughs, a surprised, high-pitched burst of sound. His eyes crinkle in delight, and he bows his head forward, the moonlight hitting him in such a way that Ian notices the presence of a dimple near his lips.

“Let me introduce myself again,” Ian says once Anthony’s laughter stops. Ian holds out a hand. “I’m Ian Hecox. And you are?”

Anthony clasps his hand in his, shaking it twice before pulling away. “Anthony Padilla,” he says, smiling. The tenseness Ian had noticed before is gone now, and Ian is glad. After all, despite Anthony’s gorgeousness, Ian’s not actually looking for a casual fuck. He really does want someone to talk to, and Anthony—Anthony, who seems pretty fluent in English and is, despite rules and regulations, sitting beside Ian right now and talking to him like an equal—looks like the perfect match.

Being this far away from his closest friends, Ian thinks he deserves to be able to crave decent company.

“Nice to meet you, Anthony,” Ian says, planting his hands on the sand behind him and leaning back. “How come you’re so fluent in English, anyway?”

Anthony chuckles. “Is that an insult?”

“Nah.”

Anthony leans back on his hands as well. “I read a lot.”

It’s a lie, or maybe a half-truth. Still, Ian doesn’t push. They’re not close, after all—they literally just met this afternoon.

“Can I ask you a question?”

Ian closes his eyes, breathing in deep. “Shoot.”

“Why are you still awake?”

“Jet lag,” Ian says simply. After a moment, he opens his eyes and turns to look at Anthony. “Why are you still awake?”

Anthony shrugs. “I sleep late. I usually come here before I go to sleep. It helps me calm myself.”

“Ah.”

Ian lies down on the sand despite knowing that he’ll regret it later, and he smiles when Anthony does the same.

The sky above looks beautiful with its multitude of stars. Ian wishes he thought to bring his phone here with him, but he left it in his room and he’s not really in the mood to walk up a mountain just to get his phone.

“You’re so lonely,” Anthony says after a few seconds.

Ian laughs, surprised. “Wow, tell me what you _really_ think.”

Anthony tenses. “I didn’t mea—”

Ian looks at him, smiling. “Relax, it was a joke. Besides, I think you’re right anyway.”

“Is that why you’re here? Because you’re lonely?”

“Not really. Probably. I don’t know,” Ian admits. “I’m supposed to be writing a book.”

“You’re a writer?”

“A Youtuber.”

Ian mentally prepares himself for the slew of questions he knows will come, closing his eyes. Anthony, once again, surprises him when the questions don’t come.

Instead, what does come is “so you’re one of those internet celebrities?”

Ian abruptly opens his eyes. “Yeah.”

“Oh,” Anthony says. “Cool.”

That’s it. There are no jabs at him and his job, no insulting “that’s not a real job” comment—something that Ian practically expected from someone like Anthony who has to go up mountains while carrying suitcases for a living.

It’s refreshing, in a way. In Los Angeles, where one would think people would take Youtubers seriously, people refer to Youtubers like they’re fakes in a store of branded clothes. It’s tiring to listen to, to say the least.

“So you’re from the US?”

“Yeah.”

“That’s awesome,” Anthony says, his voice only slightly louder than the sound of the waves. “I would love to travel someday.”

Ian breathes in the salty air. In that moment, he is hyperaware of every single grain of sand against his skin, of the sound of birds in the distance, of the gentle swaying of the coconut trees.

“I don’t know,” Ian says, musing, “I think I would rather be here.”

He’s surprised to find that he means it.

-.-.-.-

**Day 3**

Ian wakes up to the sound of knocking.

Groaning, Ian opens his eyes with a herculean amount of effort, his brain not yet fully awake. The curtains separating his balcony from the rest of the room is closed, yet Ian can tell that the sun is already up in the sky.

Sighing, Ian turns, looking at the clock on the nightstand. Nine o’clock.

Another knock.

“I’m up,” Ian says, rubbing sleep from his eyes as he slowly gets up. “Come in.”

The door opens, revealing Anthony in another tank top and another pair of shorts, a bright smile on his face. “Good morning _po_ , sir.”

Ian groans, standing up and stretching, sighing when he feels his joints pop into place. “I thought we were on a first-name basis?”

Anthony grins, taking Ian’s words as permission for him to go inside the room. He walks to the balcony, pushing the curtains to the sides to allow sunlight to enter the room. “You’re going to miss breakfast.”

Yawning, Ian walks to his suitcase and rummages inside for a change of clothes. It’s surprising, he thinks, how comfortable he and Anthony are with each other when they just met yesterday. They’re not close enough to talk about deep stuff, but they’re apparently close enough to be able to joke with each other and let the other into their own space to some degree, and really, that’s something Ian hadn’t even dared hope for.

He really does want a friend. He’s just thankful that Anthony’s willing to overlook the possible awkwardness he’s feeling to keep Ian company.

The fact that Ian’s only one of the few guests in this resort doesn’t help matters either—Ian thinks that if he had chosen to go here during peak season instead of in fucking _August_ , he would have had better chances of befriending someone who wouldn’t feel forced to hang out with him.

“Since you’re the only guest who hasn’t eaten by this time, you’re going to be eating with us,” Anthony says as he looks out Ian’s balcony.

“That’s okay,” Ian says. “I’ll be out in a few, okay?”

Anthony nods, and Ian watches him exit the cottage, softly closing the door behind him, before going inside the bathroom and changing into decent clothes.

He can only hope that Anthony’s friends aren’t going to be awkward about having a guest eat with them.

-.-.-.-

The thing is, Anthony’s friends aren’t at _all_ awkward. Instead, it is Ian who is awkward the whole time, watching with a polite smile as Anthony’s friends talk loudly in a language he doesn’t understand. Though he knows they aren’t talking about him—they hadn’t mentioned his name, and he hasn’t been subjected to odd looks—he still feels weird, trying to fit in with Anthony’s group of friends when he doesn’t even understand what they’re saying or why they’re laughing.

He does, however, make friends with Diana. He considers that a point in his favor.

“I know you felt awkward. I’m sorry.”

Ian looks up, raising one hand to shield his eyes from the sun. He smiles when he sees Anthony, patting the space beside him to let Anthony know he can sit. Ian is hit with a sense of déjà vu, and he looks around, smiling when he sees that he managed to sit in the exact same spot he was in last night.

Anthony sits down, and for a moment, they’re both content to sit in the silence.

“You don’t have to continue keeping me company, you know,” Ian finally says after a moment.

Anthony shrugs. “I know that. I do want to be your friend, though. You look so out of place here, and I figure that if I help you fit in, maybe you’d be able to tell me stories from places you’ve been.”

“That’s a good deal,” Ian says, turning to look at Anthony. “I’m up for it.”

Anthony smiles. “I knew you would be.”

Ian turns to look once more at the sea. Under the sun, the blue waters glimmer like gemstones, and the coconut trees look just that much greener.

“So what are you going to do to help me fit in?” Ian asks, intrigued.

Anthony shrugs. “I’m going to help you have fun on this island,” he says, standing up. “You’re going to be here for eleven more days, right?”

Ian looks up at him, his eyebrows furrowed. “How do you know that?”

“I’m in charge of your cottage, remember?” Anthony asks, a smile on his face. He holds out a hand for Ian to take. “Are you coming with me or what?”

Ian smiles and takes his hand. Anthony’s palm is rough, but Ian pays it no mind, instead choosing to focus on the way Anthony’s hand is just slightly larger than his, how it’s warm and comfortable surrounding his own hand. Anthony helps him up, and Ian immediately lets go of his hand, not wanting to make everything even more awkward.

Yes, he does have a crush on the guy, and yes, normally he would be acting like an ecstatic teenager as he touches his crush’s hand, but this is different. For one, he’s not exactly a teenager anymore no matter what Mari might say, and for another, he actually _does_ want to have a friend for the days that he’s here, actually _does_ want to be liked by the crew and not avoided like the plague, thank you very much.

Besides, Ian doesn’t want Anthony to feel more awkward that he already is.

“Where are we going?” Ian eventually asks, squinting his eyes to see Anthony better against the sunlight.

“I’m going to take you for a walk around the beach, since I haven’t given you your tour yesterday,” Anthony says, smiling as he walks away from Ian, towards the stone steps.

Ian’s eyebrows rise, and he hesitates for only a second before hurrying to catch up with Anthony. “Does that mean we’re going to be walking up those steps again?”

Anthony laughs. Already, Ian has come to love the sound of it, so different from the calmness that is offered by the sound of the ocean waves returning to the shore. “Yep.”

Ian groans.

-.-.-.-

“Whatcha been up to?”

Ian smiles, watching as Mari stifles a yawn. Her hair is in complete disarray once again, which is completely understandable given the fact that it is currently one in the morning in Los Angeles. Ian hears Sohinki grumble in the background, and his grin widens even further.

Yeah, he’s a shit friend, but Mari really wouldn’t have him any other way.

“Nothing much,” Ian says, truthful. “I haven’t done much writing yet, but I have been trying to have fun.”

Mari smiles at him, though it is soon hidden behind a hand as she tries to repress yet another yawn. “Sorry,” she says, the video on Ian’s laptop shifting, indicating that Mari’s walking—probably to the kitchen to get some coffee.

“I could always call another time, you know,” Ian says, watching with an amusement evident on his face as Mari stumbles. Mari has never been a morning person, and Ian sincerely doubts she has become one in the few days he has been gone.

“Yeah, well you already called,” Mari says, letting just a little bit of her frustration seep into her tone of voice. Ian doesn’t take it to heart—he knows Mari will let this slide. “What do you mean trying to have fun?”

Ian leans back on his chair. “Well, I met this guy—”

Mari groans. “Oh no, please don’t fuck this guy. You’ll be there for two weeks! You don’t want those two weeks to be awkward and stuff, right?”

Ian watches with amusement as Mari gets her mug from the cupboard. “Relax, Mari. I wasn’t finished. And besides, I don’t have that reputation.”

Mari gives him a _look_. “Yeah well you don’t have us grown-ups to watch over you. Don’t blame me if I’m worried.”

“I’d hardly call you a grown-up,” Ian says, laughing when Mari sputters in response. “Anyway, I’ve met this guy, and he’s actually the one who’s in charge of the cottage I’m in.”

“Don’t fuck the service,” Mari says, one hand reaching to tiredly rub her face.

Despite the fact that there is no one here but him, Ian is pretty thankful that he remembered to plug his earphones in, knowing that Mari’s language would be unfiltered this early in the morning. “I’m not fucking the service, Mari, Jesus,” Ian says, his voice becoming progressively softer as he reaches the end of his sentence. “We’re friends.”

“That’s nice,” Mari says, a small smile on her face. Ian hears the gentle whirr that indicates that Mari has turned the coffee maker on, and, unbidden, a smile forms on his lips. He gave her that coffee maker when she and Sohinki decided to move in together.

“What’s his name?” Mari asks. She raises one hand to comb through her hair in an attempt to make her hair somewhat presentable.

Ian shakes his head, clearing his head of his previous thoughts. “Anthony Padilla,” he says quietly, looking around to make sure that Anthony’s not near.

Ian’s in the resort’s café—a small, open hut that only has a roof but no walls, allowing the people seated inside to see the swimming pools on either side of the hut. He’s seated on a rattan chair placed beside the railing where he can see the pool more clearly.

“That’s nice,” she says. “Did you guys do anything fun?”

“He took me for a walk around the beach resort,” Ian says, and though he shrugs as he says it, he knows Mari will understand that the fact that Anthony took Ian for a walk means a great deal more to him than he will let himself express. “It was nice.”

“How do you like the beach so far?” Mari asks, stifling a yawn. “Is it nicer than the beach here?”

Ian looks around him, at the crystal blue swimming pools that surround him, at the gently-swaying coconut trees in the distance, at the sparkling blue waters of the sea under the beautiful cloudless sky. He thinks of the laughter coming from the crew when they hang out and eat dinner, thinks of the exquisite view outside his own cottage, thinks of stars spilling in the sky when light turns to dark, and smiles.

It’s already a home away from home.

-.-.-.-

“So. What’s that _po_ thing you guys seem to always say?”

Anthony grins, turning his head to look at Ian. “It’s a respect thing. Normally, you say it to elders and people of authority, and I guess guests have authority, so we say it when we address you.”

Ian and Anthony are, once again, lying with their hands planted behind them by the very same coconut tree where they first had an evening conversation. Ian would be bothered by how they seem to be constantly pulled by some invisible force to this place, but he’s too pleased by the thought that they have a spot for themselves to really think about the entire thing.

It’s night time, and the stars are beautiful white dots on a dark backdrop. The smell of the ocean is in the air, and Ian eagerly breathes it in, his eyes closing.

“Tell me about yourself,” Anthony says as he lowers himself to the ground, putting his arms behind his head.

“I’m Ian,” Ian says, looking out over the sea. “I’m 27 years old, and I like video games. I live in Los Angeles, I have a dog named Daisy, and I vlog for a living. What about you?”

“Well,” Anthony says, as if he isn’t sure where to begin. “I’m Anthony, I’m 27 years old, and I like video games too.”

Ian abruptly stops from slowly lying down, before continuing to do so. There’s _something_ there, a story behind how the hell Anthony can afford video games when he works and lives on this island, so far away from the capital of the country, but Ian doesn’t ask. He knows when something is off limits.

“So,” Ian says, turning his head to look at Anthony. “Got anything planned for tomorrow?”

Anthony grins, looking at Ian. “We’re going snorkeling at nine. Wake up early, eat breakfast, and we’ll meet here.”

Ian grins. “That’s awesome.”

It is.

-.-.-.-

**Day 4**

The sun is hot and bright in the sky when Ian walks to the sand barefoot, his slippers in one hand. He’s wearing a simple white and blue striped tank top and a pair of blue shorts, his trusty white Ray-Bans allowing him not to be blinded by the sun as he looks at the horizon.

It’s not long before he finds Anthony standing on the very edge of the shore, the water lapping at his toes with every wave. He has his back turned to Ian, his eyes focused on something far away, one hand above his eyes to shield them from the sun.

Ian’s mouth goes dry when he realizes that Anthony is topless, the smooth curve of his spine visible and _too_ arousing, his shoulders broad and muscled. The brown shorts he’s wearing hangs low on his hips, and Ian blinks, momentarily disoriented.

God, but Anthony looks so _gorgeous_. His skin, light brown from being constantly under the sun, looks smooth, and Ian is quickly swallowed by a desire to touch and see for himself just how smooth Anthony’s skin is.

When Ian has more or less regulated his breathing, he smiles a bit unsteadily. “Anthony!” he says, raising his hand for an awkward little wave before putting it back to his side. Fuck, he’s 27 years old and he feels like a kid who just got asked to prom. It’s embarrassing.

Anthony turns around, smiling when he sees Ian, and Ian swears he can feel his knees shake and turn to jelly. If Anthony’s back looks gorgeous, his front is even more so. Ian can see the lines defining his abs, can see a prominent v line that Ian aches to touch and hold onto.

Ian feels his cheeks reddening. Thank God he can blame the heat for those.

“Hey,” Anthony says, walking towards him, oblivious to Ian’s current thought process. “Ready to go?”

Ian smiles. “Yeah.”

Anthony looks at the camera Ian has in one hand and raises an eyebrow. “You sure you want to bring that?”

Ian shrugs. “I might as well take videos now,” he says, walking towards Anthony. “After all, who knows when I’ll be here next? Actually,” he says, raising the hand that’s holding his camera, “I might as well start now. What do you say?”

Anthony’s eyes are wide with surprise, and for a moment, Ian finds it hard to breathe.

There are no other people on the beach but the two of them, and their solitude, combined with the relaxing sounds of the ocean, makes the entire thing seem intimate. For a few seconds, both of them are silent as they stand still in each other’s space, their breaths mingling, and Ian finds that he doesn’t want this kind of intimacy, especially when he doesn’t even know if Anthony is attracted to guys.

“Your eyes look like wet sand,” Ian blurts out. When he realizes just what he said, his eyes widen briefly, and he resists the urge to plant his hand on his face. “Shit, I’m sorry.”

“Nah, don’t be,” Anthony says, smiling kindly at Ian. “Your eyes look like the sea,” he says, walking back towards the sea where a small boat is waiting for them.

Ian watches Anthony walk away for a few moments, his mouth agape, before shaking his head and following him to the boat. “What a pair we make, huh?” he eventually says in an effort to make it seem like he doesn’t feel awkward at all. “We’re the sand and the sea.”

Anthony grins as he holds out a hand. “The sand and the sea. Catchy,” he remarks as he helps Ian balance himself on the narrow wood plank that’s being used as some sort of staircase.

Ian immediately lets go of Anthony’s hand the moment he steps onto the small boat, choosing to drop his slippers and turn his camera on. “Ready for some video taking, sand?” he asks with a shaky smile, eager to forget about how Anthony’s hand felt in his.

Anthony smiles as he grabs a long wooden stick and pushes the boat away from the shore with it. “Go for it, sea.”

Ian grins, turning on his camera.

“Hey guys, and welcome to Ian is bored!”

-.-.-.-

There are, in Ian’s opinion, pros and cons to every situation. _This_ is not an exception.

Sighing, Ian looks at the ceiling, uncaring that his outstretched limbs are hanging by the edge of the mattress. Despite the breeze that’s entering his cottage through the window and the balcony, Ian can still feel sweat dripping down the sides of his body, can feel his shirt sticking to his skin.

Where was he? Right. Pros and cons.

The pros to being friends with Anthony include, well, having a friend while he’s here, thousands of miles away from Mari, Sohinki, and his other friends. The pros also include having someone to actually hang out with on this island so Ian won’t feel so alone.

Ian sighs, closing his eyes.

The cons include having a constant case of blue balls. It’s not that he doesn’t try _not_ seeing Anthony in such a way—no matter what Mari may say, he’s not actually a pervert, thank you very much—it’s just that no matter how hard he tries, the attraction is still _there_ , slow and simmering under the surface. Normally, he wouldn’t be bothered by such a thing—after all, it’s just a small attraction that won’t really harm anyone—but being constantly close to Anthony, being able to see his muscled back and his arms and his brown eyes that always seem to be filled with genuine delight, well. It’s enough to make a man go mindless with lust.

It doesn’t matter though. He’s not going to do anything to make Anthony feel awkward about their tentative friendship.

His eyes open when he hears three short raps on the door. “Just a second,” he calls out as he gets up from the bed, his hands quick as they smoothen out the creases on his shirt. When he realizes that he’s absently making himself look presentable, he shakes his head and forces his arms to return to his sides before walking to the door.

“Hey,” he says as he opens the door, unsurprised to find Anthony smiling at him. “What’s up?”

“We’re getting lunch,” he says, grinning. “Come on, let’s go.”

Ian smiles as he walks out of the cottage and closes the door softly behind him. “So we’re eating together?” he asks as he follows Anthony down the stone steps.

“Diana’s joining us,” Anthony says, turning briefly around to shoot Ian a dazzling grin.

Ian doesn’t answer, settling instead for a bright grin. He hasn’t talked to Diana since that slightly awkward breakfast yesterday, and to be honest, he _could_ use more friends.

He starts to regret thinking that later, once he and Anthony are walking away from the restaurant. Eating with only Diana and Anthony has made Ian realize just how talkative and excitable Diana can be. He had made the mistake of sitting beside Diana instead of beside Anthony, and so he had to nod along as Diana talked to him in rapid English and Filipino, had to smile even though he didn’t understand more than half of what she was saying.

Don’t get him wrong, Diana’s a perfectly nice person. It’s just that she’s a little too excited for his tastes—and coming from _him_ , that means a lot.

“Is she that excited all the time?” Ian asks as he and Anthony walk by silent agreement to the beach despite the sun hanging directly overhead.

Anthony laughs, glancing at Ian for a moment before shaking his head, looking impossibly fond. “Yeah,” he says, smiling. “She is. She’s like a little sister to me.”

Ian smiles. “She can’t be that much younger than you.”

“She isn’t,” Anthony says, shaking his head. “I’m only younger than her by two months, actually.”

“Ahh,” Ian says, nodding in understanding. When they’ve reached the shore, the sunlight hot against their skins, Ian raises a hand to cover his eyes from the blinding light. “So, do you have any more plans for today?”

“I thought we could go coconut bowling,” Anthony says, and Ian’s eyes widen in surprise. He turns his head to look at Anthony, his eyes widening even more when he sees that Anthony’s completely serious.

“Coconut bowling? That’s a thing?”

Anthony laughs. “What, you don’t know about coconut bowling? I thought you live in Los Angeles? Don’t you have beaches there?”

Ian shrugs, walking further until the waters are ankle-deep. “We do, but I don’t think we have that kind of thing, or at least I’ve never heard about it.”

Anthony shoots him a grin, and it’s happy and it’s genuine and it’s just that little bit _devious_.

Ian smiles back shakily.

He knows he’s fucked.

-.-.-.-

It’s four in the afternoon, and Ian is watching Anthony arrange bottles filled with water in a triangular formation in one of the resort’s many gardens. There are two coconuts lying nearby, and to be honest, Ian doesn’t think this will end well.

It’s not that he’s bad at bowling—no, he’s actually kind of good at it—it’s just that the coconuts that Anthony picked don’t look circular enough for this to work.

“Okay,” Anthony says, standing up and looking at the bottles with a pleased look on his face. He walks back to where Ian is with a bright smile. “Do you go bowling?”

“Yeah, sometimes,” Ian says, looking at the bottles across them. “I don’t think this will work, though.”

“It will. Trust me,” Anthony says, before grabbing one of the coconuts and swinging his arm back. Ian watches, his mouth dry, as Anthony’s arm muscles shift when he finally lets the coconut go.

The coconut rolls, which is surprising. What is even more surprising is that all the bottles go down.

Anthony must have seen the look on Ian’s face because he laughs good-naturedly. “Coconut bowling is something I’ve been doing since I was young,” he says by way of explanation.

That explains a lot.

“Have you gone bowling? As in the real thing?” Ian asks as he grabs the other coconut, watching as Anthony rearranges the bottles.

“Nope,” Anthony says. “I’d like to try though.”

There’s a touch of wistfulness in his tone, and it makes Ian still, the coconut a forgotten weight in his hands. There’s longing in Anthony’s tone of voice, and hearing that concerning _bowling_ of all things, makes Ian feel just that bit sadder.

Because here Anthony is, someone who wants to experience various things and go various places yet is stuck in an island, lonely enough to want to talk to a stranger like Ian, and here Ian is, someone who’s getting more and more tired of the big city, taking things that people like Anthony would want to have the chance to experience for granted.

They’re both lonely, he thinks. That night at the sea, it wasn’t just him who wanted company.

Ian shakes his head, realizing that Anthony’s nearly done with rearranging the bottles. “It’s not much different than this. I think,” he says, not wanting to make Anthony feel like he’s missing something.

Anthony smiles, and it’s grateful. He knows why Ian said what he did. “Yeah, well let’s see,” he says, indicating the bottles at the other end.

Ian swings his arm back and lets go of the coconut at just the right angle, but, unsurprisingly, he misses. Despite having the coconut in his hands for a few seconds, he severely miscalculated the weight of it and put too much force into his throw.

Anthony watches as the coconut sails over the bottles, resisting the urge to grin. Ian turns around to see Anthony struggling to keep his laughter in, and he rolls his eyes, a smile on his face. “I said it’s not much different. I didn’t say they were the _same_.”

“Uhhuh,” Anthony says, an affectionate smile on his face. “Do you need any help?”

Ian knows what Anthony means. He knows it means Anthony behind him, helping him handle a coconut, their bodies too close for comfort. He knows it’s going to be like one of those scenes from the romcoms Sohinki likes so much.

He can’t have that, no.

“I’m fine!” Ian says a bit too loudly to be considered casual. Anthony raises his arms in a placating gesture, and Ian shakes his head, forcing himself to calm down. “I’m fine,” he says again, much calmer than before, smiling to ease Anthony’s worry.

“Okay,” Anthony says, walking away.

Ian focuses on the bottles at the other end, and lets go of the coconut at just the right time. When all the bottles topple over, he grins, turning to Anthony with a pleased look in his eyes. He probably shouldn’t feel this good for accomplishing something so small, but he does and he doesn’t care that he does.

Anthony chuckles when he sees the look on Ian’s face. “You did it!”

Ian grins.

He feels so, so alive.

-.-.-.-

Day five goes like this: Ian writing a little bit in the morning, a cup of freshly-brewed coffee beside him and the smell of the sea in the air as his fingers move on the keyboard. He gets one chapter done before lunch, and he grins, because he has gotten much more done during that morning compared to a full week back in Los Angeles, when he first got the idea to publish a book and had been trying to write at least one chapter.

In the afternoon, he and Anthony—well, mostly he—learn a folk dance called “ _Tinikling_ ” from Diana. Two other men hold two long bamboo poles and tap them against the ground following a certain beat, and Ian and Anthony laugh breathlessly as they both try not to get their feet caught between the two bamboo poles once the two men have to tap the bamboo poles against each other. After a few minutes, Ian inevitably gets his ankle trapped between the two poles and he starts to fall to the sand, laughing loudly as he does so, his hand catching Anthony’s tank top because if he’s going down, then he’s certainly going to bring Anthony down with him.

It takes time for Ian and Anthony’s laughter to die down.

After dinner, Ian goes to the sandy shore, his feet bare against the sand. The wind feels good against his skin and the view is exquisite. He’s unsurprised to find Anthony in their usual spot, and he smiles, walking towards him and sitting beside their coconut tree. They spend the next hour talking about anything and everything, with Ian mostly doing the talking and Anthony being content to listen. Ian talks about Los Angeles and Mari and Sohinki and Youtube. He talks about wanting to go to Japan and his time in France. He talks about going to Hawaii with Mari and Sohinki a year ago, talks about going to New York, talks about going to Florida.

Anthony listens intently, and Ian can see the longing in his eyes, the desire to leave this island and travel. The stars shine bright above them, the endless sea dark yet inviting before them, and Ian can see Anthony’s desire to leave and never come back.

On day six, Ian and Anthony play badminton in one of the resort’s courts. Ian discovers that he’s not as fit as he thought, and he loses spectacularly to Anthony. He treats Anthony to a mango shake after their match.

Ian gets his laptop and writes in the resort’s café in the afternoon. He gets half a chapter done, his mind focused and at peace, not at all hurried and panicked. The sound of the waves crashing onto the shore is a steady music in the background, and Ian finds that he doesn’t need any of his writing playlists to get stuff done.

In the evening, as if by silent agreement, Ian and Anthony meet on the beach once more. This time, they don’t talk much, instead choosing to relax against the sand, their hands behind their heads and their eyes on the stars above. Ian sneaks a glimpse of Anthony and a smile, unbidden, appears on his face when he sees Anthony’s eyes closed, a small smile playing on his lips, his entire being looking utterly peaceful. In this little paradise, Ian thinks Anthony’s the most peaceful thing of all—neither the waves nor the skies would be able to compare.

Ian’s heart makes a painful swoop in his chest, like a masochist riding a roller coaster with the sharpest twists and deepest dives. He ignores it.

Day seven, and Ian and Anthony play volleyball. At this point, Ian is no longer surprised that Anthony’s great at sports—this is where he has been for his entire life, after all. Anthony deliberately lets Ian win a few rounds, and Ian laughs, knowing what Anthony’s doing and letting him do it anyway.

When they walk to the restaurant, Anthony tells Ian random facts about the Philippines. Anthony talks about diving sometimes, when there aren’t a lot of guests, and about some of the most interesting guests he has ever encountered, including, but not limited to, a bunch of kids who tried to transport their newly-built sandcastle into their parent’s hilltop cottage, a few Filipino celebrities who once managed to somehow break one wall of the cottage they were in, and a drunk foreigner who Anthony suspects was actually brewing meth in the hilltop cottage the foreigner had stayed in for three days.

In the afternoon, Diana joins him and Anthony, and they spend a few minutes chasing the waves, only to run back again once the waves return to the shore, not wanting to get their ankles wet. Overcome by something Ian doesn’t think he can name, he holds Anthony fast around the waist and stops him from running away once the waves come back to the shore again, their laughter loud and genuine. Anthony tries to break away from his grip, and they both topple over, both of them getting their entire selves wet. Diana laughs from the shore, not making any attempt to help them stand up.

Ian and Anthony stay in the water for a long time, content.

During those days, Ian is aware that the attraction is simmering beneath the surface. He does nothing about it though, because he knows that eventually, it will go away on its own.

If only he knew.

-.-.-.-

**Day 8**

“Whoa.”

Ian sighs, nodding. He closes the door behind him, resisting the urge to shake his hair like a dog.

“You’re wet,” Anthony unhelpfully says, his eyes wide as he stares at Ian.

Ian gives him a look that Mari says is his “are you actually kidding me?” look. “Dude. Come on,” he says, sighing as he runs his fingers through his hair in an attempt to make it less wet. “I mean, it’s raining hard outside.”

Anthony shakes his head and quickly looks away, as if only realizing that he’s been staring at Ian this entire time. “You’re the one who decided to go to the beach on freaking August,” he points out, walking towards a wooden cabinet.

Ian shrugs, sighing as he makes his way towards Anthony. “What are we going to do?” Ian asks instead, curious. He looks around to try and see if there’s a towel anywhere he can use to dry himself somewhat.

“Since it’s raining, I thought we could just play some board games,” Anthony says, his back to Ian. “Scrabble or chess?”

Ian turns back around. “Definitely Scrabble,” he says, walking to a nearby table and taking a seat on a rattan chair. He watches Anthony make his way towards him, watches Anthony take a seat in front of him and open the box, and he thinks there’s something here, something that’s making him feel comfortable remaining silent in Anthony’s presence.

For a few moments, they are content to be quiet, letting the rain and distant thunders be the soundtrack to their scene. Anthony is surprisingly good at Scrabble, though Ian thinks he should probably stop being surprised by anything Anthony does anymore.

Thunder cracks, and Ian looks up, watches Anthony consider his letter tiles.

“Anthony?”

Anthony looks up, his eyes meeting Ian’s dead on. “Yeah?”

Ian considers his words. He thinks about telling Anthony that he’s lonely, but that it’s okay because at least he’s with him, thinks about telling Anthony that he won’t be trapped in this island forever, that he’ll have a chance to at least travel the country, if not the world.

He finds that he wants to promise a lot of things he’s not sure he’ll be able to follow through on to Anthony. It’s a dangerous feeling, that.

Ian shakes his head. “It’s nothing.”

Anthony raises his eyebrows as if to say, “are you sure?” and Ian nods.

It’s not nothing, but he won’t tell Anthony that.

-.-.-.-

**Day 9**

It’s still raining.

“We should go outside,” Ian says, the idea taking root in his mind. It’s not a great idea, no, but he’d really rather do that than stay here and play Scrabble for the nth time.

Anthony shoots him a _look_. “Are you sure?” he asks in such a way that Ian knows he means “I’m game for it if you are”.

Ian merely grins before running out the center, one hand wrenching the door open. Once he’s finally outside, he doesn’t look back, knowing with absolute certainty that Anthony will follow him, no matter how ridiculous the entire thing is.

He runs to the shore, his hands outstretched and his lips twisted into a grin. The wet sand gives beneath his feet, and he looks down, his smile softening when he remembers just what he’s told Anthony so many days ago, when he remembers saying that Anthony’s eyes remind him of wet sand. He hears footsteps behind him, and he grins when he sees Anthony running towards him, his blue tank top sticking to his body, his hair becoming wavier because of the humidity.

Ian can hear the ocean waves behind him, louder and stronger and more violent in nature, can hear the distant thunders, can hear the wind howl as it bends the coconut trees to its whim, and yet he doesn’t feel scared, doesn’t feel chaotic.

He feels like he’s the eye of the storm.

“Race you to the ocean?” Ian yells, his voice barely loud enough to be heard over the pitter patter of the rain.

“You’re ridiculous,” Anthony yells, but he’s laughing as he runs to the sea.

Ian grins and quickly removes his slippers before following Anthony to the point where the sand meets the sea. When he sees that Anthony’s about to win their impromptu race, Ian runs with a burst of speed, tackling Anthony into the sea once he’s close enough.

For a moment, everything is silent. But then everything rushes back to him, and Ian stands up on wet sand with shaky legs, his lungs burning, his eyes shut tight. He hears Anthony stand up behind him and Ian opens his eyes, turning around.

He’s surprised to find Anthony so close to him, and he nearly stumbles back in an effort to remove himself from Anthony’s personal space, but his attempt is stopped by Anthony’s firm grip on his shoulders.

Anthony is gravity, and Ian is helpless to resist.

Both of them are silent. The waves are high and violent, the rain is loud as it hits both water and ground, the wind is cold and furious as it manipulates the coconut trees to dance, and Ian and Anthony are both silent.

The water is waist-deep. Ian cannot run away fast enough, though he knows Anthony will let him run away if he wants to.

His heart is hammering in his chest. It feels like his heart is one with nature, like it is doing its best to recreate the storm surrounding him so that his other organs are unstable as well. His stomach is flip-flopping, his nerves are tingling, and he feels like his heart is doing cartwheels in his chest. Still, he remains silent, content to breathe in and breathe out albeit quite shakily.

Anthony’s hands are heated brands on his shoulders. Despite the loud noise of the wind and the sea, Ian can hear Anthony’s labored breathing. Ian lets his eyes meet Anthony’s, and he sees hesitance there, as well as want.

Anthony looks away from Ian, a small smile on his face. “You know, I was saying the truth,” he says, his voice soft.

Ian furrows his eyebrows, confused. “What?”

Anthony looks back into his eyes, and Ian can see no more hesitation there. “Your eyes _do_ look like the sea.”

Ian’s eyes widen in surprise. His heart beats quicker in his chest, the storm inside him raging wilder than before. “Oh,” he says, finding that he can’t speak anything else.

“Can I kiss you now?”

Wordless, Ian can do nothing more than nod.

Anthony leans in closer, and Ian closes his eyes, his hands reaching up and placing themselves on Anthony’s waist.

Anthony kisses him, their lips moving against each other’s in a passionate dance, and it is a storm quite unlike the one that surrounds them. It is raw and it is passionate and it is an endless ocean waiting to be explored, and Ian—

—Ian lets himself go.

-.-.-.-

**Day 10**

Ian wakes up to the knowledge that someone is watching him.

His eyes open slowly, his mind unwilling to be pulled away from sleep. He smiles when he sees that Anthony’s eyes are intent on him, brown orbs filled with delight.

“Hey,” Ian says softly.

Anthony’s smile grows. “Hey,” he says.

They’re both naked under the thin blanket. Ian takes note of this with a happy little sigh, taking the moment to let himself get even closer to Anthony despite the fact that there’s almost no space between the two of them. It’s for body heat, Ian reasons, but he doesn’t let his mind ponder over it too long—despite the pouring rain outside, he _knows_ why he’s doing this.

Last night had been… _something_. Ian’s not quite sure how to describe what last night had been, but it was definitely something Ian’s sure he won’t quickly forget. He thinks he’ll have a hard time forgetting just how Anthony’s skin felt under his touch, just how Anthony’s mouth tasted as it moved against his, just how Anthony’s shout when he came was loud enough to compete with the pouring rain and thunder.

This—the morning after—is supposed to be awkward. Ian should have woken up to a cold and empty bed, not Anthony looking down at him with such reverence in his eyes. He finds that he can’t complain, though, because heaven knows he’d rather have this. He’d rather have shy smiles and softly spoken words in this little haven from the torrential downpour than stilted conversations with a friend who might not want to keep him company anymore.

He’s been lucky, he thinks. Ian isn’t the sort to believe in things like luck, but there’s nothing else to explain _this_. He’s been lucky enough to meet Anthony in a country he initially didn’t even want to go to, been lucky enough to have Anthony as a friend, been lucky enough to have his affections returned. He’s doesn’t believe fate or gods, but he thinks it’s time to start being thankful to someone now.

“Wanna get breakfast?” Ian asks, his voice soft.

“It’s still raining outside,” Anthony says, closing his eyes and putting one leg in between Ian’s in an effort to be even closer.

Their voices are hushed, a desire to keep their space simply _theirs_ keeping their words soft and low. Anthony’s softly spoken words are refreshing given the fact that Ian has been listening to loud thunder and rain for the past few days.

Ian listens to the rain for a few seconds. “I don’t think it’s stopping anytime soon,” he says, watching as Anthony slowly opens his eyes.

Anthony groans, planting his face in that spot between Ian’s neck and shoulder. “I don’t want to get up yet,” he admits, his voice muffled.

Ian laughs. He turns so that he’ll be able to face Anthony fully, one arm neatly finding its way across Anthony’s waist. “That’s okay. I don’t want to get up yet either.”

Anthony hums under his breath. “We shouldn’t have done this,” he says, casual and easy.

The bottom drops out of Ian’s stomach. “Oh,” he chokes out, tensing. He moves to separate himself from Anthony, moves to get some space between the two of them, when Anthony says, “no, that’s not what I meant.”

Ian looks at Anthony’s eyes, sincere and almost pleading. Pleading for what?

“Don’t go.”

Oh.

Ian blinks, swallows past the lump in his throat. “What do you mean?” he asks. His body is still tense, still ready to get out of bed with one single thought, but he stays there.

“I mean, well. You’re only going to be here for a few more days, right?” Anthony asks, uncertainty ringing clear in his voice.

Ian allows himself to melt back into the mattress and relax. “Yeah,” he says.

Counting today, he only has four more days. The reality of the situation hits him hard. After those four days, he’s not sure if he’ll be able to see Anthony again.

Life is not a love story. No matter what romantics like Sohinki and Mari may believe, life doesn’t work that way. This, Ian’s friendship with Anthony, was supposed to remain a friendship, not become something Ian isn’t sure he’ll be able to maintain. Nothing’s going to get magically better, and really, Ian should be staying the hell away from Anthony to save himself from the inevitable break up.

And yet, here he is, staying. It feels right, somehow.

“I don’t want to talk about leaving,” Ian says, and it’s the truth. “Do you?”

“Of course not,” Anthony says, shaking his head in as much as he can while lying down. “What do you want to talk about, then?”

“I don’t know,” Ian says. “I’d like to know more about you, though.”

Anthony smiles, the edges of his lips curling, the dimple on his cheek appearing. “What do you want to know?”

“Anything.”

Anthony takes his time to think, humming under his breath as he does so. Ian is content to stay still and quiet, content to let the sound of the rain lull him back to a state of easy relaxation. He feels drowsy once more, feels the siren call of sleep calling him under, but Ian blinks his eyes. He wants to hear whatever Anthony will tell him.

“Remember when you asked me how I’ve become so fluent in English?” Anthony asks, his voice soft, his eyes staring into nothingness. He sounds like someone who’s reliving something in his mind.

“Yeah?” Ian asks, suddenly awake. When Anthony remains silent, Ian makes himself look Anthony directly in the eyes. “You know you don’t have to tell me if you don’t want to, right? I don’t have to hear about it if you don’t want to talk about it,” he says, eager to dispel the lost look in Anthony’s eyes.

“No, it’s okay,” Anthony quickly says. “My mom was from the US, you know.”

Ian actually didn’t even suspect that, but he nods anyway.

Anthony chews on his bottom lip for a few seconds before he taking a deep breath. “She uh…she met my dad here. She was on vacation.”

Ian waits for Anthony to continue.

“She had to return to the US, and when she found out that she was pregnant with me, she came back here,” Anthony says, still staring at nothing in particular.

Ian can hear the rain starting to weaken, like it’s slowing down and becoming quieter specifically for Anthony.

“Anyway, she and my dad were young. She thought her parents wouldn’t approve, so she didn’t tell them about me.” Anthony takes a sharp breath, exhaling slowly right after. “She died during childbirth, and my dad didn’t know who her parents were, so I was raised here. Then, my dad found an opportunity to work in the US, so he left me here with my _lola_ —that’s my grandma—and uh, he found someone. Long story short, my dad has a new family in the US. I talk to my half-siblings, so that’s how I learned how to speak English very fluently.”

Those aren’t easy words to say, Ian knows. He appreciates the fact that Anthony told him these things even when Ian himself doesn’t think he deserves to know something that’s obviously as close to home as this is.

“I,” Ian begins, but his mouth closes after a second when he realizes that he doesn’t really know what to say. Should he wait for Anthony to say more? Should he start talking about himself?

He takes a deep breath. “I appreciate you telling me this,” he says, opting for honesty. “Thank you.”

Anthony smiles, but it’s a sad facsimile of one, something Ian doesn’t want to see again. “It’s nothing,” he says, even though Ian knows that it’s _everything_. Anthony’s just that kind of person, Ian thinks—the kind who downplays achievements because he thinks he doesn’t deserve credit, or that other people deserve that credit more than him.

Ian sits up slowly, letting the blanket fall to his hips. “No, it’s not nothing,” he says, because Anthony has to _know_ that this means a lot to him. He sees Anthony sigh, and he shakes his head. “No, listen to me. I appreciate you telling me this, okay?”

Ian’s not the type of person who’s naturally gifted at talking about feelings, but for Anthony, he thinks he’s willing to try. He may not have known Anthony for long, but Ian thinks he already knows more about him, considering the fact that they’ve only spent a couple of days keeping each other company.

Slowly, Anthony sits up as well, the blanket bunching on his hips. Outside, the rain starts to pour more heavily—Ian hopes that that isn’t some sort of symbolism the universe is trying to offer him.

“I know that you appreciate this,” Anthony says, running his fingers through his hair. “I know that, and I think it’s awesome that you know just what this means to me. It’s just, you know, it’s become something that I’ve learned to live with.” He shakes his head, a self-deprecating laugh making its way past his lips. “Or maybe I haven’t really learned how to live with it. I don’t know. It’s not nothing, but I want it to be.”

Ian stays silent. He knows that Anthony needs this, knows that Anthony needs to keep talking, needs to get everything out before he shuts his lips.

Anthony takes a deep breath. “You know, _lola_ is sick. That’s why you don’t see her too often. My dad’s doing his best, sending me money and things, and I’m grateful, I really am, but I just—” he stops, his mouth abruptly closing. Ian can practically see Anthony deflate. “I don’t know. I’m worried about being stuck here for the rest of my life,” Anthony eventually confesses, his voice soft, like he doesn’t want to breathe life into his words, like what he just said is something he never meant to see the light of day. “I’m worried that there’s nothing for me besides _this_ , you know? I know I shouldn’t be worried, that I should be grateful that I even have something like this, but—”

Ian shakes his head. “No. I think it’s okay for you to be worried.”

Anthony exhales. “Thank you,” he says, sincere.

Ian doesn’t say anything. Instead, he faces Anthony and leans in slowly, giving Anthony enough time to back away if he doesn’t want this. When Anthony doesn’t back away, Ian’s lips twist into a small smile before he kisses Anthony, deep and passionate, somehow a spark and a brightly burning flame in itself at the same time.

He kisses Anthony, and he hopes Anthony knows that Ian thinks there’s something waiting for him out there.

-.-.-.-

“I fucked the service.”

Mari stops walking, blinking, before she sighs exasperatedly, like she should have expected this would happen. In all honesty, she probably _should_ have seen this coming, but Ian would never say that out loud.

In his defense though, it’s not like Ian does this all the time. He doesn’t make a habit of having sex with strangers. After all the things they’ve talked about this morning in Ian’s cottage, Anthony is anything _but_ a stranger, but Mari would probably disagree with him.

Mari starts to walk again, and Ian looks at the screen with a grin, completely unapologetic.

“God, I can see your shit-eating grin right now. It’s way too early for this,” Mari says, shaking her head.

“What do you mean? It’s four in the afternoon right now,” Ian says, purposefully ignoring the fact that it’s one in the morning where Mari is. He stops himself from bursting into laughter at Mari’s exasperated look.

Ian’s in the café once again. The rain stopped halfway through lunch, and so Ian took the time to grab his laptop from his room and get some writing done in the café. Thankfully, the seats and tables weren’t wet anymore, and Ian carefully put his laptop down, intending to Skype Mari after a few hours.

“Ugh, why am I even friends with you?” Mari asks. Ian grins wider—he knows she doesn’t mean it.

Ian shrugs. “It’s my charm, I hear.”

“Oh, fuck off,” Mari says, and Ian laughs. “I told you not to do anything rash, damn it.”

“It’s not that, I swear,” Ian says, shaking his head. “I mean, it’s not like I forced him or anything. Nothing’s awkward, I promise.”

Mari tilts her head. “Maybe nothing’s awkward now, but what about later? You _are_ going to leave that island, you know.”

Ian blinks, bowing his head. He may not be the romantic type, may not be the kind of person who constantly needs to be in a relationship, but he still knows that this—what he has with Anthony—means something. He has always admired what Mari and Sohinki have, and maybe, just maybe, on some level, he wanted that for himself as well.

He’s not kidding himself—this thing that he has with Anthony is nowhere close to what Mari has with Sohinki, but to be honest, he can see its potential, can see what it can be in the future, if only they had more time.

Ian sighs. “I know,” he says. “I’m trying not to think about it, though.”

He’s probably running away from his problems, but then again, that has always been an issue with him. He knows that he and Anthony aren’t deep in this relationship, knows that they can still pull away from commitment, but despite the warning signals in his head, he doesn’t want to do that. He wants to see where this can lead.

Cheesy, yes, but in his defense, he has a right to being cheesy every once in a while.

The simple fact is that Anthony makes Ian enjoy things just that little bit more. Anthony reminds Ian of the things he has taken for granted. It’s funny how he, the one who has traveled and experienced more, learned more from the man who stayed on the same island his entire life than vice versa.

It’s humbling, that.

Mari sighs. “How many more days until your flight back?”

“Four days, including today,” Ian answers, looking out at the sea. He’ll miss the view, he thinks. He’ll miss the smell of the ocean in the air and the constant sounds of the waves crashing on the shore.

Mari nods slowly. “So that means you only have three days on that island, right?”

Ian sighs, nods.

Three days.

-.-.-.-

**Day 11**

Ian looks at the steps ahead of him, a frown on his face. “Are you kidding me?”

Anthony laughs. “Nope. Keep walking.”

Ian exhales. While, admittedly, the view here is amazing, the entire walking up another mountain is pretty fucking exhausting, and the fact that they’re doing all of this just to go to a slightly more secluded pool is, in Ian’s opinion, not worth it when there are two perfectly good pools below that will still provide them privacy given the fact that there aren’t other guests in the resort.

Sighing, Ian continues walking up the steps, bringing out his phone when he’s high enough that he can see past the coconut leaves. Here, the ocean looks amazing, blue waters sparkling under the sun, a few small boats floating in the distance.

The air is slightly colder here, and Ian wraps his towel around himself once he’s finished taking a few pictures of the exquisite view.

The silent pool is exactly that—silent. However, since Ian’s the only guest here, he guesses that the pools near the café are also silent, and so he turns around, shooting Anthony a look.

“What?” Anthony asks, chuckling as he walks to a nearby lounge pool chair and puts his towel on the seat. “I asked you if you wanted to go swimming. You said yes.”

Ian sighs, looking at the small bar near the pool. There isn’t a bartender behind the counter—probably because the bartender figured no one would be going to the “silent pool”—but from here, Ian can see that the bar is well-stocked. It’s not as well-stocked as the resort’s bar near the restaurant, but it’s good enough for Ian.

“I didn’t know you meant _this_ pool, geez,” Ian says, putting his things on the lounge chair beside Anthony’s.

Anthony finishes removing his white and gray striped tank top, carefully folding it before putting it on his chair. “Stop complaining and start swimming. I’m going to turn the Jacuzzi on.”

Ian watches Anthony walk away from the pool, his eyes taking their time to appreciate the curve of Anthony’s spine. Smiling, Ian removes his shirt as well before getting his camera.

“Hey guys. Welcome to Ian is bored!”

-.-.-.-

The sun is setting in the horizon.

Ian looks at the view for a moment, appreciating the red and orange streaks across the sky, appreciating the sun looking like it’s going to take a dip in the vast ocean waters.

He and Anthony hadn’t spoken for a few minutes, but it’s okay. They’re content to remain in comfortable silence for a while, content to just be in each other’s presence. Ian isn’t always the same person he is in front of the camera, and he appreciates the time to just be him.

More than that, he appreciates the time to just be him _with_ Anthony.

Both of them are seated in the Jacuzzi, the hot water coming up to their shoulders. Despite the more than adequate space, Ian and Anthony are seated close to one another, every bit of their skin from their knees to their shoulders touching the other’s.

It’s very intimate. It’s the sort of intimate that would normally have Ian running for the hills, questioning why he’s doing this, but is now just something that he would like to have for a long time, if not forever. It’s still too early for him to know if this—if Anthony—is something he wants for the rest of his life, but he knows he wants to try to get there, at least.

He turns to look at the view once again, and when he sees the encroaching darkness, the violet and indigo hues of the calm sky overhead, he has to swallow past the lump in his throat.

Only two days to go.

“You only have two days to go,” Anthony says, his voice small. Ian turns around to look at Anthony and finds that Anthony’s staring at the setting sun, a sad, knowing smile on his face.

Anthony directs his gaze back to Ian. “What else do you want to do?”

There are a lot of things Ian wants to do. He wants to be able to memorize Anthony’s face, Anthony’s scent, Anthony’s taste. He wants to be able to never forget the days he spent here, wants to be able to recall just what Anthony was wearing on that day when they first met. He wants a chance to see where this could lead. He wants more time. He wants to be able to stay.

He wants to be able to take Anthony with him.

Anthony must have seen the emotions warring on his face, because Anthony takes his face in his hands, gently cupping the sides of his face before leaning in and kissing him.

Ian’s eyes slide closed. His hands tighten into fists underwater before he forces himself to gradually open them.

It’s not fair. It’s not fair that he only got this now. It’s not fair that Anthony has to stay here and he has to leave.

Slowly, reverently, Anthony’s hands move until one is cupping the back of his head, fingers carding through his wet hair, and the other is pressed against his chest, palm against where his heart should be. Ian raises his hands and places them on Anthony’s hips, his lips continuing their movement against Anthony’s.

Anthony tastes like mangoes. Ian chases the flavor with his tongue, with his lips. He hears Anthony groan, and a smile twists his lips. Their kiss, though passionate, is slow, both of them wanting to take all the time in the world despite the fact that there’s not much time left. The kiss is a low simmering heat, and though Ian would love to bring it to a boil, he is content to stay here and take what is offered.

Eventually, the need for air makes them pull away from the kiss. As Ian gasps for breath, he notes with a no small amount of satisfaction Anthony’s lips, red and swollen from their kiss.

“I—”

There are a lot of things Ian can say. I want to stay. I wish I could take you with me. I’ll miss this. I’ll miss you.

He doesn’t say any of those, though. Instead, he shakes his head at the silent question present on Anthony’s face and kisses him once more, his mouth intimately knowing how to move against Anthony’s. He feels Anthony’s tongue press against his, feels nerves singing in pleasure as Anthony’s hand on his chest moves until his fingers can play with Ian’s left nipple, and he sighs into the kiss.

No one can see them here. All they have for company is each other, the silent pool, and the wonderful view behind them of the sun taking a dip in the sea.

“ _Oh_ ,” Anthony says, breathy, as Ian’s lips make their way down to the underside of Anthony’s jaw, mouthing at the bit of skin there. Ian feels Anthony’s fingers tighten in his hair, and he groans.

“Are you sure we should be doing this here?” Anthony asks, his voice soft and low.

Ian pauses from what he’s doing, taking the time to glance at Anthony. Anthony who has his head thrown back and his eyes closed, Anthony whose fingers are still gripping Ian’s hair like he’s afraid Ian’s going to back away, Anthony who has his hand resting against Ian’s chest.

“Do you want to stop?” Ian asks. He watches as Anthony opens his eyes and looks at him in the eye, watches as Anthony shakes his head, before he leans in once more and goes straight for the side of Anthony’s neck, tongue laving over slightly wet skin.

Anthony groans, a deep rumbling sound that Ian’s sure he will miss. Ian feels Anthony’s fingers loosen their grip on his hair, feels Anthony’s hands make their way to Ian’s back, short nails making their mark on Ian’s skin.

“Don’t stop,” Anthony says, his voice sinfully low, and something inside Ian _snaps_ , the low simmering heat under his skin suddenly boiling hot. Ian slowly puts his hands on Anthony’s shoulders, making sure that his fingers pass the dip of Anthony’s clavicles as his mouth makes its way to Anthony’s right earlobe.

“I don’t plan on stopping,” Ian says, his voice whisper-soft, his lips moving against Anthony’s ear. He smiles when he feels Anthony shiver, glad to know that he affects Anthony as much as Anthony affects him.

Ian lightly sucks on Anthony’s earlobe, and Anthony moans, loud and low. Ian feels electricity run down his spine at the sound of Anthony’s moan, feels the flames inside him become bigger, hotter, more consuming. His cock is hard in his shorts, and he resists the urge to bring one hand down and chase the sweet string of pleasure, instead choosing to bring one hand to the back of Anthony’s head.

Ian can do this forever, he thinks. He can keep on kissing Anthony forever, can keep on touching him, can keep on playing him like a cello to a symphony only he knows about. Ian moves his mouth so he can kiss Anthony on the mouth once more, and he smiles when he sees that Anthony’s mouth is slack, open around a wordless moan.

He isn’t positioned correctly. It’s an awkward angle. Ian doesn’t mind, really, just as long as he can continue kissing and touching Anthony, but he has always believed that he can reach any goal just as long as he does something about it, and so he pulls back from Anthony’s mouth, panting for breath for a few moments, before standing up from the tiled seat underwater.

The cool air hits his wet skin, and Ian shivers. He’s quick to kneel over Anthony, the corners of his mouth lifting up in a smug smile as he sees Anthony look heatedly up at him, desire obvious in his eyes. As Ian takes Anthony’s mouth in his, he feels Anthony place his hands on Ian’s back once more, fingers splayed open and possessive. Ian puts his hands on Anthony’s shoulders for balance, right before carefully descending, putting most of his weight on Anthony’s legs.

It’s not comfortable. The edges of the tiled seat dig painfully against Ian’s legs and the cold air isn’t welcome against the skin above his shoulders, but Ian doesn’t care. The heat of the water, the heat of Anthony’s skin against his, the heat of the flames inside him—those are enough.

“Oh God.” Anthony moans once Ian’s hand has made its way to his nipple, fingers playing with the nub. “Ah, Ian, _please_.”

“Please what?” Ian asks, purposefully teasing. With one hand still braced on Anthony’s shoulder, he rolls his hips, a soft, ragged groan making its way out of his throat when his clothed cock comes into contact against Anthony’s, the friction too light and not enough.

Anthony sucks in air through his nostrils, his fingers digging into Ian’s back. “Don’t tease,” he grits out. He removes one hand from Ian’s back and places it directly against Ian’s throbbing erection, one finger tracing the outline of Ian’s cock.

“ _Ah_ ,” Ian breathes out, his hips moving with the motion of Anthony’s finger. “More, oh God, Anthony, _more_.”

Anthony leans in until his lips just barely touch the side of Ian’s neck. “See what I mean by tease?” he asks, his breath hot against Ian’s skin, before leaning in and kissing that sensitive spot, his tongue laving over the skin.

Ian finds that he can’t quite say anything, too busy trying to catch his breath as he pants loudly. The hand he has placed against Anthony’s chest moves further downward, until he can cup the erection inside Anthony’s shorts. He grins when he hears Anthony’s breath hitch. “I’m not teasing now,” Ian says, his voice breathy, and he one-handedly struggles to remove Anthony’s shorts.

It’s not easy and it’s _definitely_ not sexy, but Ian doesn’t care. Instead, when Anthony looks like he’s not going to stand up and make it easier for Ian to remove his shorts, Ian’s hand makes its way inside the waistband of Anthony’s shorts and the waistband of Anthony’s briefs, quickly finding Anthony’s cock.

Ian feels a small thrill of pleasure go through him when he sees Anthony writhe into his touch, and he smiles. “I’m not teasing now,” he repeats, his voice soft.

Anthony groans. “You better not be,” he says, his voice low. His hand reaches into Ian’s shorts and grips Ian’s cock.

“Fuck,” Ian breathes out, bowing his head and leaning it against Anthony’s shoulder. His eyes shut tight, he starts bringing Anthony’s cock outside his shorts, a choked-off moan making its way past his lips when he feels Anthony bring Ian’s cock out as well. Anthony’s grip around him is sinfully delicious, tight and hot and _electric_ in a way.

Anthony starts stroking him, and Ian has to breathe in through his mouth to get enough air. Lust pools at the pit of his stomach, and Ian has to remind himself to start stroking Anthony off as well, the flames inside him burning hotter and brighter when he hears Anthony’s groan, low and ragged.

It’s easy for Ian to ignore the slight discomfort of the sharp edge of the seat against his legs, of the awkward angle at which he’s jerking Anthony off in favor of focusing on the delicious sounds Anthony makes when Ian thumbs the slit, when Ian rubs his thumb against the head. Anthony pulls him off slowly, but then starts to gain more speed until both of them are gasping into each other’s mouths and bringing each other to a higher place, a silently agreed upon competition happening as they try to bring each other to new, unexplored heights.

Ian comes first, and it’s a fire burning his skin until he feels like his skin fits him again, a jump from a mountain and into the dark unknown, a star exploding behind his eyelids. Moans spill out of his lips like hushed prayers, and his hand slackens on Anthony’s cock.

When he has gathered his bearings, Ian opens his eyes and grips Anthony’s cock tight once more, starting to stroke. The haze of pleasure is still just beginning to clear in his mind, but he continues to watch Anthony’s face with half-lidded eyes anyway. Even with Anthony’s eyes shut tight, he is expressive, the tightly coiling spring in his belly visible in the way Anthony bites his lip to stop moans from making their way past, in the way red stains his cheeks.

He is beautiful.

Anthony comes, and he is a small creature being washed away by the rising waves. His mouth slackens, and breathy little gasps spill out like stars appearing in the night.

When Anthony opens his eyes, he looks directly at Ian, before looking at the Jacuzzi water and laughing.

They’re a mess, but Ian wouldn’t have it any other way.

-.-.-.-

**Day 12**

Ian wakes up with Anthony in his arms, still fast asleep and drooling a bit on his bare shoulder, and he smiles.

It’s a new day.

“Wake up,” he says softly and a bit half-heartedly. While he would love to start his day early, he doesn’t really want to wake Anthony up and make him move from his current position. Right now, Ian feels comfortable, nestled under the covers with Anthony pressed against him.

This is a kind of peace Ian thinks he has never experienced in all his years in Los Angeles. That—that means something, he thinks, because not even during his and Mari’s short relationship did he ever feel even three-quarters of the peace he feels now. Right here, on this bed, the rest of the world feels far away, and Ian is drunk on the feeling of being untouchable.

Ian hears the not so distant sound of a rooster crowing, and he watches as Anthony wakes, his eyes slowly opening to reveal those brown eyes that remind Ian so much of the sand.

“Hey,” he says, his voice soft.

Anthony’s lips quirk into a smile. “Hey. Any plans for today?”

“Aren’t you the one who’s been planning the stuff we’ve been doing for the past few days?” Ian asks, a small smile on his face.

“Yeah, well, you only have two days left, counting today. Hell, this is your last full day, right? You’re leaving tomorrow after lunch.”

Ian sighs. “Yeah.”

He doesn’t want to think about tomorrow.

“So what do you want to do?” Anthony asks, and really, it’s like he doesn’t _know._

Ian sucks in a breath, forcing himself to slowly release it. “I just want to spend time with you, I think.”

Anthony smiles, and it’s a mellow sort of smile like the first few rays of sunshine in the morning. “I’m okay with that.”

“So…breakfast?”

“Breakfast.”

-.-.-.-

“You know,” Anthony says as he and Ian walk away from the restaurant after a breakfast spent listening to Diana, “you can always order breakfast in your room. Just pull on the rope I told you about, and I’ll know that you want to be served breakfast there.”

Ian shrugs. He doesn’t really mind Diana—she’s a really nice person, really. It’s just that Ian wonders how she hasn’t run out of things to talk about yet considering the fact that she’s been on this island since she was born. Ian knows this, because she practically told him her life story during that first breakfast he spent with her and some of Anthony’s other friends.

“I don’t really need the rope, do I?” Ian asks, bumping Anthony’s shoulder with his as they walk in silent agreement towards the sea. “I mean, not when I have you in my bed.”

Anthony grins cheekily. “Who says I’ll be in your bed tomorrow?”

Ian doesn’t reply, choosing to shake his head instead.

“Anyway, aren’t you going to be packing your stuff?” Anthony asks, curious.

“It’s like you want me to go away,” Ian says, mock-hurt.

Anthony laughs, throwing his head back. “Oh come on,” he says when he’s done, a grin still on his lips, “you know I don’t mean that, _sea_.”

Ian smiles. “It sounds that way, _sand_ ,” he says, barely restraining his smile from becoming a full-blown grin. Only a couple of days spent on this island, and already, he and Anthony have names for each other.

Anthony stops walking, turning towards Ian with a look on his face that Ian can only describe as a puppy-dog face. “I’m sorry, _sea_ ,” he says, delight present in his eyes. Ian can tell that he’s just barely stopping himself from grinning and ruining his mock apologetic look. “What can I do for you to forgive me?”

Ian sees Anthony’s eyes twinkle with mischief, and he _knows_ just what Anthony’s thinking about suggesting he do to earn Ian’s “forgiveness”. Grinning, Ian decides to play along, but not in the way Anthony thinks.

“Okay, _sand._ I forgive you, but you have to let me take a video with you first.”

Anthony’s eyebrows furrow in confusion. “Okay? We’ve done this two times already. I don’t think you have to ask for my permission.”

Ian shrugs. “Come on, I have to have something to remember you by.”

Anthony’s lips curl into a smile, and it’s soft and it’s radiant and it’s more beautiful than the view in front of them. “Okay.”

Ian feels his heart beat wildly in his chest, and for a moment, he looks blankly at the camera in his hand, not knowing what to do. After a few seconds, he shakes his head and raises his arm, turning the camera on.

He can think about leaving later. For now, he has to do this.

-.-.-.-

The day passes by in a blur. It’s not too long before Ian and Anthony are once again seated under their coconut tree, silent as they watch the waves return to the shore, as the look at the moon and stars brightly shining in the sky.

It’s past midnight.

Ian should probably go to his room and start packing. He should probably get some sleep so he wouldn’t be tired as fuck tomorrow during the travel back to his hotel. He should probably be writing. There are a lot of things Ian should be doing, but he doesn’t think about them. Instead, he remains seated beside Anthony, his arms wrapped around his bent knees, his eyes on the dark horizon.

He breathes in, out, in, out. The coconut trees sway with the wind. Anthony is relaxed against him. The sand is fine and grainy beneath the soles of his feet.

It feels a bit like déjà vu. They’ve been in this spot—been in this same position—for so many times in the past few days. During that first time they sat together, Ian never thought that their relationship with each other would drastically change just a few days later. Back then, all he wanted was a friend, and all Anthony wanted were stories about travelling.

Here they are, just a few days later. Despite never imagining that things would turn out the way they did, Ian doesn’t think he’d exchange what happened between them for anything else in the world. He doesn’t regret it.

“What do you want to do?” Anthony asks, his eyes still focused on the rolling waves.

Ian shrugs. From the corner of his eyes, he can see Anthony turning his head to look at him for a few seconds before turning his gaze back on the water.

“Come back someday, okay?” Anthony asks. “Visit me sometime.”

Ian chews on his lower lip for a few moments. “I will,” he eventually says, knowing that what he’s saying is true. He’ll be able to visit someday. Maybe he and Anthony can talk online. Technology’s a wonderful thing, after all—it makes sense to make the most out of it.

“In the meantime, well. You have those videos of me,” says Anthony, his voice soft.

Ian blinks. He has those videos, yes, but Anthony…

“Do you have a camera?” Ian asks, turning his head to look at Anthony.

Anthony shakes his head. “No. Why?”

“I have the videos to remember you by,” Ian says, shrugging. “You don’t even have a picture of me.”

Anthony smiles. “I’ll remember you, don’t worry.”

It’s not that Ian fears Anthony will forget him, no. It’s just that Ian fears that this—all of this—will become something not quite unlike a dream once he returns to the city and, later on, to Los Angeles. Without anything tangible to remind Ian of this island and of Anthony, Ian fears that all of the things he and Anthony had done will fade away someday, as memories often do.

He doesn’t push, though. Instead, he smiles and stands up, paying no mind to Anthony’s questioning look at him. He strips his shirt off, then his shorts, then his briefs.

“What are you doing?” Anthony asks, his eyebrows furrowed. He looks at Ian from head to toe, then looks around, probably to see if other people can see them.

“Relax,” Ian says, “there’s no one else here. Now are you coming with me or what?”

“Coming with you where?” Anthony asks, remaining seated on the sand.

Ian doesn’t answer. Instead, he quickly turns around and runs to the sea, ducking his head underwater once the water’s up to his chest. After a few seconds, he raises his head and grins when he sees Anthony struggling with removing his shirt.

“Come on!” he shouts, uncaring of the volume of his voice. He knows the staff is asleep by now in their own rooms.

“Wait, I’m stuck,” Anthony says, his voice muffled by his shirt.

Ian resists the urge to laugh, settling for widening his grin instead when Anthony finally, _finally_ manages to remove his shirt. Ian watches as Anthony removes his shorts, then his briefs. A few seconds, and Anthony is in the sea with him.

Ian watches as Anthony ducks his head into the water.

When Anthony reemerges, Ian notes the way the moonlight looks on his skin, notes the way Anthony’s hair is wavy once again, wet and gleaming.

They’re the only ones here.

Anthony’s eyes are twinkling with delight, and Ian is surprised by the sudden flip-flop of his heart in his chest, of the sudden proud thought that he’s the one who put those there, who’s making Anthony smile so widely, who’s making Anthony this happy.

It’s an exhilarating feeling.

“You know,” Anthony says, his voice low, “technically, skinny dipping is against the rules.”

And suddenly, Ian remembers another night like this, a night spend seated under that coconut tree with Anthony nothing more than a stranger.

Ian’s smile is soft. “Yeah, well,” he says, looking at Anthony intently, “where’s the fun in following rules?”

Anthony smiles, and Ian knows that Anthony remembers.

“You’re right,” Anthony says, his voice soft.

Anthony leans in, one hand making its way to the back of Ian’s head, and he kisses Ian, soft and passionate and just that little bit desperate. Ian’s eyes slide closed, and he allows himself to enjoy this kiss, knowing that it might just be their last.

Anthony’s mouth still tastes like mangoes, but with a hint of saltiness from the sea water. Ian moans into Anthony’s mouth, his hands coming up to clutch at Anthony’s shoulders.

Vaguely, Ian can hear the sound of the waves crashing on the shore, can hear the slight sound of the coconut trees swaying in the distance, but he doesn’t pay attention to any of those. Instead, he kisses Anthony with a purpose, his tongue moving against Anthony’s in an intimate dance only the two of them know about, tasting everything he can taste, remembering everything he can remember.

After a few seconds, Ian and Anthony separate, leaning their foreheads against each other. Ian doesn’t open his eyes. He breathes in, shakily, through his mouth.

“You know,” Anthony whispers, “I don’t know how you do it.”

Ian opens his eyes. “What do you mean?”

Anthony breathes in deep. “I’ve been here since I was born, and I’ve never met anyone like you,” he says, and it’s not stated as a compliment, but rather as a fact. A simple, known truth.

It’s funny, how two people can affect each other in so many ways in so little time.

“Well, aren’t you cheesy?” Ian says, a smile playing on his lips. He finds that he has to say something to break the moment. He doesn’t think he can handle a moment with as much gravity as this so close to his departure.

“You’re leaving later,” Anthony says. “I think I’m allowed to be cheesy.”

“If it’s any consolation,” Ian says, one hand reaching up to play with the hair on the back of Anthony’s head, “I didn’t even want to go here, and now I don’t want to go.”

“Now who’s being cheesy?” Anthony asks, but there’s a playful grin on his face.

“Shut up.”

For a few moments, both of them are content to stay there with Ian’s arms on Anthony’s shoulders and with Anthony’s hands moving downward until they can grip Ian’s hips. The water is shoulder-high, and the air is cool and Ian feels at peace.

He might be leaving, but he’s going to come back. He knows it.

“We should go. I don’t want you to catch a cold.”

Ian smiles, touched by Anthony’s concern. “I’ll be fine.”

“Still,” Anthony says, removing his hands from Ian’s hips. “Come on, let’s go. You need to get some sleep.”

Ian would rather stay here, really, would rather watch the sunrise with Anthony, but he knows he should go and get some rest. He doesn’t immediately follow Anthony who’s walking towards the shore, though, content as he is to admire Anthony’s very nice ass.

He’ll miss him. He really, really will.

Breathing in deep, Ian starts to walk towards the shore, trying to note everything as he does so. He wants to remember the coolness of the air against his wet skin, wants to remember the annoying pieces of sand that are now stuck to his feet as he walks on the ground, wants to remember the view of the moon and the stars shining brightly against the dark sky. He wants to remember the sound of the ocean, something that has lulled him to sleep for the past few days, wants to remember the gentle sway of the coconut trees, wants to remember the sight of Anthony smiling at him as he walks toward him.

He’s not in love, he tells himself. It’s too early, after all, to say such a thing. However, as he watches Anthony struggle into his shirt, he thinks he’s near that point.

They both dress up in silence. Ian does his best to try and ignore the grains of sand sticking to his skin as he puts his clothes on methodically.

“So,” Anthony says uncertainly.

Ian looks up. “What is it?”

“Do you, uh, want me with you, or…?”

Ian walks towards Anthony, a soft smile on his face. “Don’t be ridiculous. Of course I do.”

Smiling, Anthony meets him halfway and kisses him soundly, his hands easily finding their way back to Ian’s hips. Ian kisses back, tongue darting in for a taste.

“Anthony?”

Ian and Anthony separate from each other quickly, as if burned.

It’s Diana.

Ian relaxes, about to greet her back, when he notices Anthony’s tense form. Furrowing his eyebrows in confusion, he stays silent, watching as Anthony slowly turns around.

Diana isn’t pleased. Ian looks at her and feels his heart fall at her narrowed eyes. Her normally bubbly expression is now icy cold, her mouth a straight, disapproving line.

The waves crash on the shore.

Anthony, who is, as far as Ian knows, best friends with Diana, is frozen in place. There’s fear in his eyes, and Ian realizes that Diana doesn’t really know Anthony very well.

Or maybe, Ian thinks as he looks at Diana and sees the fury in her eyes, she _does_ know Anthony. It’s just that she disapproves of him.

Diana doesn’t say anything. Instead, she stalks forward and grabs Anthony roughly by the arm, Filipino words slipping out of her mouth in angry bursts. Ian doesn’t understand what she’s telling Anthony or what Anthony’s telling her, but he knows that what they’re talking about is something they have discussed before, knows that neither party is about to back down. He doesn’t dare interrupt them, knowing that this is a conversation they have to have, knowing that this is a conversation that isn’t supposed to include him.

“Anthony, do you want to get fired?” Diana finally shouts. “Do you? You know that _this_ isn’t _natural_.”

Anthony’s mouth snaps closed.

Diana seems to finally take note of Ian, because she shoulders past Anthony and gives Ian a cold smile, tight-lipped and impolite. “ _Sir_ , you should go back to your room and sleep _po_. You don’t want to be late tomorrow, right?”

With that, Diana turns back around and drags Anthony with her, her grip on his forearm tight. Ian is helpless as he watches them walk away, his feet stuck to the ground.

It’s moments after when Ian finally starts walking away from the sea, feeling having returned to his legs. He wants to go to Anthony, but Anthony never told him where he stays.

He can’t leave tomorrow with things between them like this.

He ignores the crashing of the waves on the shore, and he walks to his cottage, his mind filled with thoughts. Anthony’s taste is still in his mouth, sweet and yet salty, and he can still remember the way Anthony’s skin feels against his hands.

Vaguely, he is aware of his hands curling into fists by his sides. It’s not _fair_. It’s not fair that someone as wonderful as Anthony is stuck on this island with a homophobe for a best friend. It’s not fair that Anthony can’t go travel the world. It’s not fair that Ian became close to Anthony in such a way only a few days before he’s supposed to leave.

He probably seems like a child who’s whining about fairness, but he doesn’t really care anymore. He doesn’t care, because this isn’t how he thought things would be when he stepped out of that airport with his shirt sticking to his skin. This isn’t how he thought things would end when he was kissing Anthony in that silent pool just _yesterday_.

Ian slams the door behind him.

He can hear the sound of the ocean in his room, can hear the waves coming back to the sandy shore.

The sounds don’t lull him to sleep.

-.-.-.-

**Day 13**

Exhaustion must have taken hold of Ian, because when he opens his eyes, sunlight is streaming through his open window and his balcony.

Rubbing his eyes, Ian grabs his phone from his nightstand, his eyes widening when he sees that it’s almost twelve noon.

Grimacing, Ian makes his way to the balcony, pulling on the rope three times. He doesn’t have much time, but he’ll be damned if he doesn’t see Anthony one last time before he has to go. Turning around, he takes note of the clothes that he hadn’t put away properly, and he walks to his suitcase, dragging it to the side of the bed.

His mind wanders as he methodically removes his clothes from the suitcase and stacks them beside him.

It’s easy to get lost in paradise, he thinks. He and Anthony had been so wrapped up in their own little bubble that things like these—dirty looks and disapproving glances, things that he should be used to by now—had caught him by surprise when they shouldn’t have. It’s not so far-fetched to think that a religious country such as the Philippines thinks that way about the LGBT community.

He doesn’t want to leave Anthony in a place like this, but there isn’t much he can do, he thinks. He can’t very well ask Anthony to go with him, but he doesn’t think he can just let Anthony stay here, not when his own best friend disapproves of him.

Shaking his head, Ian focuses back on the present. When he’s finished packing, he quickly grabs a couple of clothes and his towel, making his way to the bathroom.

There, his thoughts plague him once more.

Anthony—Anthony has been so good to him for the past few days. Ian hadn’t thought that he would be as lonely as he was, but Anthony…he seemed to just _know_. He hadn’t even asked for anything in return, just for stories about places Ian has travelled and various bits and pieces about his life.

And Ian got him in trouble.

Ian barely resists the urge to bang his head against the wall in frustration. _That’s_ how he repays Anthony’s kindness? By getting him in trouble? He feels so unbelievably selfish.

It’s not as if it’s his fault, though. In fact, none of it is his fault at all. It’s Diana and her backwards ideals, Diana and her outdated beliefs. Anthony should be able to kiss who he wants to kiss.

It’s not as if Ian can do much, though. Outdated beliefs or not, he can’t get Anthony fired. This is all Anthony has. This island may be a cage, but it’s also where he lives, and Ian doesn’t believe in biting that hand that feeds you.

Sighing, Ian turns off the water and quickly towels himself off. His skin is still damp with water, but he doesn’t pay it any attention, slipping into his clothes with his mind running a mile a minute. Exiting the bathroom, he glances at the clock on the nightstand, his eyes widening when he sees that it’s only fifteen minutes before one o’ clock.

Grabbing his wallet from the nightstand, Ian’s eyes widen as he remembers that Anthony won’t have anything of him, not even a picture.

Well. He can’t have that, can he?

Quickly, he opens his wallet and gets a small two by two photo, placing it under the pillow on the bed. Anthony’s in charge of this room—he should be able to see the photo later. It’s not exactly the kind of photo Ian would like Anthony to have—for one, he would prefer a photo where he’s actually relaxed, not looking constipated as he smiles at a camera for an ID picture, and for another, he wants Anthony to have a picture of _them_ , not just of him—but it will have to do, he thinks.

Grimacing, he puts his wallet in his backpack and rolls his suitcase to the foot of the bed. He turns around, trying to take note of things he may have forgotten to pack in his haste.

Hearing three short knocks, Ian rolls his shoulders and walks to the door, a smile twisting his lips. It’s Anthony, and as soon as he steps into the room, Ian’s going to kiss him and tell him all the things he wants to tell him before he has to leave.

With a grin on his face, Ian opens the door, his smile fading when he sees Diana instead of Anthony.

“What are you doing here?” Ian asks, confused.

Diana shoulders her way past him, walking straight to the nightstand and placing the tray there. “You asked for breakfast, sir?”

Ian blinks, forcing himself to close the door behind him gently. “Where’s Anthony?”

Diana turns around and looks him in the eye, defiant. “He’s currently busy, sir.”

“Look, what’s your problem?” Ian asks, barely keeping a lid on his anger.

Diana’s eyes narrow and Ian is astounded not only by the amount of hate in her eyes, but also by the amount of _hurt_. “ _My_ problem? _I_ don’t have a problem! _Ikaw ang may problema!_ ”

Breathing raggedly through her mouth, Diana rolls her shoulders. She closes her eyes for a moment, and when she next opens them, Ian sees nothing. Her face is impenetrable, but Ian can still see the tenseness in her limbs, in her shoulders.

“ _You_ are the problem,” she says, half-snarling.

Ian freezes. He can feel his blood turn to ice, can feel his eyes narrow with anger. Despite these, however, no words leave his lips in an angry burst like fire from a dragon’s mouth. Instead, he forces himself to breathe in deep and exhale, breathe in deep and exhale, breathe in deep and exhale.

His voice is deathly silent when he finally speaks. “You really shouldn’t talk about things you don’t understand, you know.”

Diana laughs, and it’s cruel and it’s mocking and it’s everything a laugh shouldn’t be. “Between the two of us, I think it’s you who doesn’t understand. Sorry, _sir_ ,” she says, a mocking lilt to her voice, “but you’ve only been here for a few days, right? I’ve known Anthony since we were young.”

Ian blinks, taken aback. He watches as Diana takes a deep breath, watches as Diana visibly calms herself.

“Look,” she says, and there’s concern in her eyes, “I don’t want Anthony to be fired because of… _that_.”

She says it like she’s being forced to, avoids the word like it is plague and pestilence combined. Ian can’t believe that this is the same person he had bonded with during that first awkward breakfast, can’t believe that this is the same bubbly person who can’t seem to stop talking about anything and everything under the sun.

“And I know that he _will_ be fired if the owner finds out,” Diana continues, oblivious to Ian’s current thought process. “I know you’re only new here, but you don’t want that, do you?”

And suddenly, Ian’s mind grinds to a halt. Because Diana’s right. Ian might not agree with her beliefs, but he knows when he’s beaten.

Diana seems to see something, because she offers him a sad smile. “Don’t be the bad person here. Leave now and don’t come back, okay?”

Ian doesn’t speak, too caught up in his thoughts as he is. He doesn’t really know what to say, doesn’t really know what to do, because no matter how much he wants to tell her that she’s wrong, he’s not in a position to do so. He’s going to have to leave Anthony here. He might as well leave him with his friendship with Diana still intact.

“I hope you had a pleasant stay, sir. _Mag-ingat po kayo_ ,” she says, and she leaves, closing the door gently behind her.

The food stays untouched.

-.-.-.-

The beach is beautiful. Ian kind of regrets not taking more pictures of it, busy as he was with all the activities Anthony kept on planning for the two of them as well as writing.

Too late, he thinks, as he carefully steps into the small boat, watching as the brown-skinned man before him puts Ian’s suitcase down.

The sea seems to twinkle under the light of the sun. Ian slips his sunglasses over his eyes as he sits, biting his lip as he looks at the shore.

Anthony isn’t there.

Disappointment clutches his chest, and Ian shakes his head, forcing himself not to think about any of it anymore. Diana was right—Anthony can’t lose his job. His life is here, not with Ian. Ian can’t just ignore the fact that this is all Anthony has.

The man starts to push them away from the shore with a long bamboo pole, and Ian is assaulted by memories of that day when he danced with Anthony, falling on the sand when his feet couldn’t avoid the poles quick enough.

Another shake of the head.  He really has to stop thinking about Anthony.

The motor starts, and the boat steadily goes, further and further away from the sand.

“Sir?”

Ian looks up, surprised to find the man standing right in front of him. “Yeah?”

The man offers him a small smile. He reaches into his back pocket, bringing out a folded piece of paper. “ _Pinapabigay po ni Anthony_.”

At Ian’s confused look, the man chews on his lip, before slowly speaking. “Anthony gives you this, sir,” he says, his English stilted, but understandable.

Slowly, Ian reaches for the paper. Once he finally has it in his hand, the man walks away, toward the front of the boat.

Ian turns.

He imagines he can see a lone form watching the boat on the distant shore.

-.-.-.-

**Day 14**

He’s early.

Ian doesn’t like airports much despite the fact that he often frequents them. It isn’t such a big deal though, because most of the time, he can actually tolerate them.

Not this one.

He’s seated on an uncomfortable metal piece of shit, and he will have to stay seated on it for at least an hour, because the plane he’s going to take has some _issues_. Somehow, despite the AC being on, sweat is making his shirt stick to his skin. To make things worse, he can’t even access the internet because the free Wi-Fi offered by this particular airport is slower than a fucking turtle.

It just sucks.

Sighing, he opens his backpack and starts to reach in for his phone, pausing when he touches his camera.

Since yesterday, he’s been trying so hard not to think about Anthony or his letter. It had been a lesson in self-restraint, really, and it has practically taken a miracle for him to have actually forgotten about the letter.

Now, however, he remembers it, and he remembers it _vividly_. He hasn’t read it, no, not wanting to be stuck with memories of Anthony when what he needs to do is forget, but now…

Another sigh.

Really, he should have known he wouldn’t forget.

Grabbing his camera, Ian quickly removes it from its case and turns it on, one hand reaching to close his backpack. He looks around him to see if there are people seated nearby, focusing back on the small screen when he sees that the few people who are seated nearby have earphones on and will most likely not be annoyed.

It’s not long before he has the first video he took with Anthony playing on the small screen.

_“Hey guys, and welcome to Ian is bored!”_

_Ian hears the motor start, and after a few minutes, Anthony walks toward him, shyly waving at the camera. “Hi.”_

_“Introduce yourself!” Ian says, turning to Anthony with a grin on his face._

_Anthony looks at him with amusement in his eyes, the small smile on his face slowly becoming bigger and brighter as he faces the camera and speaks in a loud voice. “Hey guys, I’m Anthony.”_

_Ian turns the camera to face him. “And what are we doing today, Anthony?”_

_“We’re going snorkeling!” Anthony says, throwing his hands in the air. He looks so ridiculous that Ian finds it hard not to laugh, and so he doesn’t resist it, letting his mouth fall open and laughter spill from his lips._

_Anthony mock-pouts at the camera. He reminds Ian of one of those clowns at birthday parties trying so hard to look friendly and cool to the kids so they’d be approached but instead make the kids run for cover because of their too-wide grins. It’s kind of hilarious._

_Anthony looks at Ian, worry present in his brown eyes. “What is it? Am I doing it wrong?”_

_Ian shakes his head. “Nah, you’re a natural,” he says, deciding not to inform Anthony that he looks overly enthusiastic._

_Anthony looks at him, one eyebrow raised. He is unimpressed. “Really?”_

_Ian smiles. “Promise. You’re great, sand.”_

_Anthony turns to look at the camera. “I’m sorry guys, I’m new to this kind of thing.” He looks at the waters surrounding their small boat, and he smiles apologetically at the camera. “Anyway, I have to go steer the boat.”_

_Ian watches Anthony walk to the front of the boat, before turning back to the camera. Carefully, he turns the camera so that he can take a video of the stunning view of the ocean. “I’m currently in this beautiful island in the Philippines. The ocean’s beautiful. I’d honestly give you guys a closer look of just how clear the ocean here is, but I really don’t want my camera to fall into the water.” He turns the camera to focus back on his face. “Anthony’s been kind enough to show me around and things, right sand?”_

_“Of course, sea,” Anthony responds._

_“We’re going snorkeling today,” Ian says, turning the camera to let it focus on the snorkeling gear on the seats. “Let’s just hope I don’t inhale salt water.”_

_Ian hears the motor stop, and after a few seconds, Anthony walks toward him, shaking his head. “Nah, you won’t. Relax. Anyway, we’re here. Ready to go?”_

_Ian turns the camera back around. “I guess we’re going,” he says, and he waves at the camera before turning it off._

The video stops.

Ian can’t quite bring himself to move. The sounds of the airport can’t quite reach his ears—it’s like he’s hearing everything from underwater. His thoughts are jumbled in his head, and everything’s a mess.

 _He’s_ a mess.

After a few more moments, he shakes his head and plays the next video.

_“Hey guys. Welcome to Ian is bored!” Ian says, a smile on his face. He turns the camera and focuses it on the exquisite view of the ocean. “As you can see, I’m still in the Philippines. The view is still gorgeous.” Ian turns the camera so it’s facing him. “We’re going swimming today, and by we, I mean Anthony and I.”_

_The water in the Jacuzzi starts bubbling, and Ian looks down, his lips curling at the edges as he thinks about how heavenly the water will feel against his body, relaxing tensed nerves and muscles. He’s getting the full service, he thinks as he looks up and finds Anthony walking towards him, a small smile spreading on his face when he sees the camera in Ian’s hand._

_“Hey guys!” Anthony says, waving one hand. Ian grins, knowing that Anthony still feels shy in front of the camera, and yet is still trying not to seem like it. Ian can practically hear Anthony mentally telling himself to loosen up, and really, he appreciates it._

_Ian faces the camera, one hand reaching up to remove windswept hair from his field of vision. “Anthony has been helping me make the most of my vacation here.”_

_Anthony nods. “That’s right.” He smiles at the camera, charming and not at all shy, his eyes twinkling with delight. “Even provided him with the full service and all.”_

_Ian raises an eyebrow, looking at Anthony. “Full service?”_

_“Well, yeah,” Anthony says, shrugging. He winks at the camera, making Ian’s eyes widen, before leaning in and kissing Ian on the mouth, his lips soft and warm against Ian’s. Ian’s eyes close, and for a moment, his hand struggles to keep up with the weight of the camera as he tries not to let his hand fall limp._

_Eventually though, Ian forces himself to pull away from the kiss, his eyes opening slowly like flowers beginning to bloom during spring. He looks at the camera and isn’t at all surprised to see two spots of red on his cheeks, to see lips that are almost obscenely red, to see Anthony smiling in that proud way of his._

_“Full service,” he breathes out, making Anthony grin even wider. Ian can feel the tightness in his shorts, can feel goose pimples breaking out over his skin, can feel heat engulf him despite the cold wind up here, and he knows what’s going to happen sooner or later, though of course he would prefer it be sooner._

_Ian may be close to his fans, but he’s not about to give them a live show._

_Determined, Ian looks at the camera, quickly waving goodbye._

Ian blinks, looking away from the camera for a bit. Everything feels all too vivid, like he’s living moments again instead of just watching snippets on his camera. Right now, seated in a crowded airport, he imagines he can still feel Anthony’s lips pressed against his.

He inhales sharply and looks around him. The people seated near him are still as oblivious to the things happening around them as they had been when Ian first sat here, and though Ian knows it’s irrational, a slow simmering anger appears in his gut because how dare they remain oblivious to something so Earth-shattering as moments with Anthony captured on video? How can they be so unaffected by something so gargantuan, Ian feels like it might swallow him whole?

Another deep breath. Ian forces himself to breathe steadily through his nose, to loosen the knots of anger appearing in his gut. He looks back down at his camera and bites his lip, looking at the next video.

It’s the last video he took with Anthony. He spent _two weeks_ on that island, and he couldn’t film more than three videos that last merely five minutes each?

Not giving himself the option to back out, Ian quickly plays the next video, his eyes intent on the small screen.

_“Hey sea.”_

_Ian looks at Anthony, watching him look at the camera with sincerity in his eyes. Anthony glances at Ian from the corner of his eyes, hesitation evident in the way his eyebrows are furrowed, but he quickly shakes it off, and immediately, his shoulders loosen up, like they’re no longer carrying the weight of the world._

_“Actually, you know what? This is awkward.” Anthony then turns so that he’s facing Ian instead of standing beside him, one hand reaching over to flip the screen so Ian can see what he’s filming. “I’d prefer to see you.”_

_Ian’s voice is soft when he says, “okay.”_

_Anthony looks over at the ocean, a faraway look present in his eyes. He’s thinking about what he’s going to say, Ian knows. Today is their last full day, and even without saying it out loud, they both know that this video is important._

_Anthony takes a deep breath before looking at the camera dead on, the look on his face completely serious. “I’m going to miss you,” are the first words that leave his mouth, his voice soft and slightly shaky as he says them, the words as delicate as the clouds of the morning sky. “I’m really going to fucking miss you.”_

_Ian has to look away for a bit. He swallows past the lump in his throat and looks at the sea, needing to focus on something else other than the sadness in Anthony’s eyes._

_“I know we only met a couple of days ago, but already it feels like I’ve known you for years,” Anthony says, and he doesn’t say it as a compliment, as something that would make Ian feel better, but as fact, a cold hard truth that is supposed to be simple but isn’t. Anthony chews on his bottom lip for a few seconds, tilting his head back and looking at the blue sky overhead as he considers what his next words are going to be, and Ian finds himself biting his lip as well. He’s nervous for some unknown reason. Ian can feel his heart thudding painfully in his chest, and he forces himself to take a few deep breaths._

_“I guess I just want to thank you.” Anthony looks not at the camera but at Ian, and Ian really isn’t supposed to be surprised at the sincerity in Anthony’s eyes, but he is. He is, because no matter what he may feel about Anthony or what Anthony may feel about him, the fact still remains that they’ve only met each other mere days ago, and they don’t know each other as well as they want to._

_And God, how Ian wants to know Anthony._

_“I want to thank you.” Anthony laughs, a little self-deprecating and a little disbelieving. “God, I don’t even know why I’m thanking you, but I am. I guess I just appreciate the fact that you were here, even if only for a few days. I appreciate the fact that I got to meet you and that we got to become friends. I realize that we both could have lived our lives not meeting each other, so I guess I’m just thankful that you’re here.”_

_Ian slowly exhales from his nose, watching as Anthony struggles to get the rest of the words out of his mouth._

_“Visit me sometime, okay?” Anthony sounds so small and so vulnerable that Ian has to fight the urge to engulf him in a hug immediately. “Don’t forget me.”_

_“I won’t, don’t worry,” Ian says, shaking his head. His memory may be bad, but Anthony—no. He won’t forget him. Not after all the things Anthony has made him feel in such a short amount of time._

_Anthony smiles sadly. “I know you won’t, but it feels good to remind you. Come back to me, okay?”_

_“I promise.”_

The screen fades to black.

Ian blinks, not knowing what to feel. The camera is a weight he can’t quite feel on his hands, and he can’t hear past the rushing sounds in his ears. He feels as if his mind just rode on an upside-down roller coaster without the permission of the rest of his organs and is now just starting to learn how to cooperate with them once again.

“—to Los Angeles, the issue has been resolved and boarding will start in a few minutes. Thank you for your patience,” Ian belatedly hears on the overhead speakers, the English smooth and not as heavily-accented as the others he has heard from the past few days.

Chewing on his bottom lip, he looks back down at the camera. His thoughts are a mess in his head, a spilled glass of milk spreading on top of a wooden table filled with important documents. He can see Diana dragging Anthony off with her, can hear Diana angrily telling him that he’s the problem, can feel the wind against his skin as he rides that small boat further and further away from the island.

And yet.

 _Come back to me, okay?_ Anthony had said, his voice on the verge of breaking like brittle glass.

“—is now boarding. Thank you for choosing to fly with Philippine Airlines.”

Ian looks up, biting his lip when he sees the people seated near him begin to stand up. Right now, he wants to do anything _but_ to stand up and go on that flight that will take him even further away from Anthony. He wants to watch the videos he took again. He wants to read the letter Anthony had written him. He wants to go back to that stupid island and kiss Anthony senseless, uncaring of what Diana might think.

He blinks.

He didn’t stand a chance, really. Despite what he had felt when he was about to leave, despite the speech Diana gave him, despite the worried thoughts clamoring for his attention, he really should have known he would be powerless to resist. Because, honestly, it’s not as if he could stop himself from going back and visiting Anthony, no matter what homophobic assholes might feel.

Anthony’s too good of a person for Ian to break a promise to.

Standing up, Ian puts the camera back inside his bag and walks to the counter, his steps unhurried. He’ll read Anthony’s letter later, he thinks, when he’s in his apartment and slightly more relaxed so he can fully appreciate what Anthony has to say. He falls in line and looks at the huge airplanes outside the glass windows, a small smile forming on his lips as he thinks.

Fuck the homophobes. If Anthony wants him to visit, then he _will_ visit. Maybe not tomorrow, and maybe not even sometime in the next few months, but he _will_ visit someday.

As Ian walks through the boarding gate, the small smile still present on his lips, he turns around, looking at the airport and the hurrying passengers.

Anthony doesn’t have to worry. Ian will come back to him.

The sea always returns to the sandy shore, after all.

**Author's Note:**

> I don’t own Smosh. I don’t make money from this.


End file.
